The Last Day
by theDeadTree
Summary: Eugene Cousland has a bad day.


**Note/Disclaimer:** so I really like Dragon Age and this is what happens when I have too much time on my hands. I apologise in advance for how absurdly long this is.

Dragon Age belongs to BioWare, still not making any money, still fanfiction, still purely for funsies and nothing more.

* * *

Scratching.

I let out a small, exhausted groan and rolled over onto my stomach. I felt the sheets draw tight, wrapped around me and keeping me there, entangled in blankets. I didn't care. All it did was make getting up even more of a chore, and I was already perfectly content to remain exactly where I was for the rest of eternity.

A whine.

"…Kiba…" I mumbled into my pillow, too tired to do much else.

I shouldn't have said anything. He knows I'm awake now. And sure enough, there were footsteps, the sound of claws clicking on the floor, and then there was the wet, warm feeling of my hand being repeatedly licked. Some gentle attempt to coax me out of bed, I could only assume.

You'd almost think he doesn't try this tactic every single damn morning.

I waved him off, not wanting to deal with it right now. Or ever.

Barking, now.

"Enough, Kiba."

That, of course, did absolutely nothing.

I let out a long, exasperated sigh and groped blindly at the floor next to my bed before my hand closed around one of my boots. I paused, just for a moment, waiting for my dog to break the silence once more. What resulted was a strange kind of stand-off, as I carefully balanced myself, already half falling out of bed, gripping my boot tightly, just waiting for the inevitable.

The mabari didn't seem to know what to do with himself. He looked at me, then at the door, then back at me, before finally pawing at the wood again, letting out a long, distressed whine followed by a sharp bark that I'm sure was supposed to urge me awake.

I hurled the boot at him. He jumped to catch it, barking loudly when it sailed over his head and growing increasingly excitable by the second as I lost my balance and quickly fell out of bed, dragging most of the covers with me.

"Dammit! _Kiba!"_

At the sound of his name, the great big lumbering war hound bounded over to me, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, wagging his tail so enthusiastically that it seemed like the second half of his body wiggled with it. He stood over me, panting happily and occasionally nudging me every so often. For what felt like an age, I just lay there, staring aimlessly at the ceiling, completely ignoring him.

Kiba stared down at me, his whining growing more and more insistent the longer I tried not to pay him any mind. After a long pause, I blew up his nose. Immediately, he jumped back, exhaling sharply in an attempt to rid himself of the discomfort I'd dared to cause him. Then, just as quickly, he came right back, jumping on me and barking.

"Ah! Ow- …Kiba that's- …gah…"

"For the love of the Maker and holy Andraste, Eugene Cousland, learn to control your bloody hound!" Fergus roared, bursting through my bedroom door only to almost immediately freeze in place.

For a moment, no one moved, no one said anything. My brother just stood in the doorway, gazing down at me, half naked on the floor, with my mabari on top of me, looking happy as anything. I let out a quiet groan and completely slacked, knowing I was never going to hear the end of this.

"Do you _mind?"_ I asked, coughing a little as I struggled to breathe under the weight of a fully grown mabari war hound sprawled across my chest. "We're in the middle of something."

"Yeah. Well. Whatever it is, it's so loud you can hear it from the other side of the castle," Fergus replied dryly. "Your dog is a menace; I hope you know."

I glanced back at Kiba and pulled the dog into a tight hug before kissing him. "Don't you listen to him, buddy. He's just jealous."

"Uh huh. Jealousy. That's exactly what it's not."

"So jealous," I cooed to Kiba, rubbing his neck as he yawned happily. "Who _wouldn't_ be jealous of you? What a specimen! Finest mabari in Ferelden, I'd say. Who could rip a man apart? _You_ could! Oh yes _you could!"_

Fergus watched this exchange in silence for a moment, arching an eyebrow in bemusement as he struggled to understand the intricacies of the bond between someone and their dog.

"Do you two need a moment alone?" he asked finally.

"Oh haha," I drawled, giving Kiba a gentle slap so he would get off me. Almost the instant he was up, he was straight back to being excitable and full of energy, bounding out the door and disappearing from view.

Fergus watched him go, remaining exactly where he was, motionless in the doorway.

"Is there a specific reason you're still here?" I asked him after a time, before remembering that I wasn't wearing much in the way of clothes and pulling the sheets further over myself. "I'm not decent."

"Oh dear. I've glimpsed my brother without a shirt on," he deadpanned. "Someone call the guards."

 _"Fergus."_

He smiled crookedly. "You're wanted in the yard. I should've known you were still asleep."

"I wasn't asleep," I protested indignantly.

"Right. Your mabari was making that racket before because… he _wasn't_ tired of being cooped up in here while you slept?"

 _"Maker_ Fergus, you parent me more than you do your own son."

"Right now, you need it more than Oren does," he told me simply, before glancing away. "He's talking about dragons again, by the way. Won't stop jabbering away about all these things _Uncle_ told him."

I smiled and shrugged innocently.

"You know Oriana is up my ass about it," he sighed.

"I _bet_ she is."

Rather than reply, he plucked a shirt from the dresser and threw it at me. "Get dressed, Eugene. They're waiting for you."

By the time I pulled the shirt over my head, my brother was already gone, having completed his task of making sure I was awake. For a moment, I just sat there, still hopelessly tangled up in sheets, staring aimlessly ahead. I couldn't say why Fergus felt the need to take it upon himself to get me up, when we literally have a castle full of servants. Maybe Kiba really had been that loud. Still. I'd have expected someone like Gilmore. He's usually the one to drag me outside each and every morning.

I groaned tiredly, rubbing my face in some attempt to wake myself up before fumbling with the sheets as I tried to pull myself free. Better to start the day late than not at all, I suppose.

Eventually, I kicked myself free of the sheets, which lay sprawled across the floor in a tangled pile. For a moment, I just stared at the mess I'd managed to make just by falling out of bed. There was a vague twinge of guilt in the back of my mind as some small part of my brain reminded me that if I left my room in this state, I was leaving it all on whichever poor servant was on cleaning duty today.

Hastily, I piled the sheets back on the bed, silently cursing myself for caring so much.

It wasn't hard to imagine my father's reply to that particular thought. _Compassion is an admirable trait, pup. Don't dismiss it._

Seems like every single person in the country is suffering in one way or another. I can't possibly sympathise and try to help with them all – who's got the time?

With a small sigh, I went to my bedroom door and pushed it open, grumbling inconsolably about dogs and older brothers and my own damn conscience. It's too early for this. I realise it's the late morning and I should've been up hours ago, but it's still _way_ too early for this.

"Uncle!"

I jumped violently in surprise, before whirling around to find Oren peering out from a corner with a huge grin plastered across his face – probably from the satisfaction of knowing he'd just successfully taken me by surprise.

 _"Andraste's-"_ I began, before quickly cutting myself off. "…Oren! I didn't see you. Shouldn't you be with Brother Aldous?"

Rather than reply, he began fidgeting, before making a point of sheepishly looking away. I folded my arms and smiled, unable to help myself.

"Oh I _see._ We're skipping class today."

"Are you going to train?" he asked abruptly, trying to move the focus away from the fact that he should be in the library.

 _"Oren,"_ I called his name sharply, since I may as well _try_ to be a responsible authority figure at least once. "You should be studying."

"But it's _boring,"_ he protested indignantly.

"Don't let Aldous hear you say that."

He let out a small, mildly frustrated sigh. "He never talks about anything fun."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. I was suddenly overcome with very vivid memories of making similar complaints to my father when I was young. The Cousland family history was _so_ incredibly dull when I could've been learning about dragons, or something similar. I was stuck in the library so often, never well enough to do anything else, so I figured I may as well spend my time studying something actually interesting. I'd be lying if I said I as a model student who didn't skip out on class at every available opportunity - not that I ever got very far. Something Aldous is _never_ going to let me forget, I know it. I'm sure he'll be incredibly pleased to learn Oren has a bit more in common with his uncle than anyone cares to admit.

Which means I can more than likely look forward to more lectures on _being a good role model for your nephew, Eugene._

I know that I shouldn't be encouraging him, but I'm his uncle. That's supposed to be my _job._ Besides, I can't help it if I'm the only fun one in the entire castle.

"I want to learn swords," he told me finally. "Can you teach me, Uncle? Please?"

Oh Oren. We both know your mother is never going to allow that. He also knows that despite Gilmore's best efforts, I never really took to being a straight out, traditional swordsman – on account of constantly finding shields too cumbersome and my penchant for outright cheating. And yet, that knowledge never stops him from asking.

"Oren, you know I'm not really-"

"Or you could show me a bow! How about poison? Can I learn about that? Or those knives that you have?" he gushed, his voice growing faster and louder as he got more and more excited.

"You mean my dirks?"

"Yeah!"

I blinked several times, trying to find a way to diffuse this situation before he somehow roped me into teaching him knife work and so giving Oriana full sanction to skin me alive.

"Maybe when you're a bit older," I managed after what felt like an eternity.

He pouted at that. "How much older?"

"Try five years or so."

"That's _ages!"_ he protested. "Why can't I learn now?"

"They're not _toys,_ Oren," I chided him gently, before wincing over how much I managed to sound like my own father. And here I thought I had at least a few more years before descending into the murky abyss that is being a somewhat responsible adult.

"Are you going to train?" he asked me again after a brief pause. "Can I watch?"

Quickly, I glanced around, searching the hall for any sign of Oriana. If she _was_ within earshot, she would've made herself known by now, just enough to give me a silent glare from a distance. When I found nothing, I relaxed just slightly, before returning my attention to my nephew.

Don't do it, Eugene.

You know full well this can only end badly for everyone involved.

Don't you _dare_ do it.

"I don't know… can you promise me not to breathe a word of this to your mother?"

He nodded enthusiastically, his eyes wide with excitement as I beckoned him to follow me and together we made our way out of the domestic wing of the castle.

Oh, _Maker._

Because there is just _no chance_ of this ending badly, is there?

It's fine. I'll be busy with whatever new training scheme Gilmore decides to throw at me. Oren won't say anything, so there won't be any actual way to prove I was the instigator here. It'll be _fine._

Sure. Just keep telling yourself that.

Except if Oriana catches him there she'll make _assumptions_ about me being the one to coax him into it - because, let's face it, it usually _is_ me who starts it - and everything will fall apart from there.

Too late to back out now, I suppose.

"You're late," Gilmore's voice called as I rounded a corner and emerged in the castle's training yard.

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered irritably as I vaulted over the fence in one fluid motion. Behind me, Oren ran up to the wooden fence and immediately climbed up, trying to position himself so he could get the best view of the coming fight. I tried not to wince a little at the thought of Oriana walking out to see her son here with me. Even if she wasn't the particularly protective mother that she is, Oren is too young to start learning himself regardless. I probably shouldn't encourage him.

Because she'll catch me sooner or later and the wrath of my sister-in-law isn't something I want to deal with.

I doubt Oren will say anything. But Oriana just manages to find things out, somehow. She always has. I'm starting to seriously consider the possibility that she has a small spy network at her command.

And oh _Maker,_ she is _so_ going to chew me out for this.

"Single sword, no shield," Gilmore told me in a deadly serious tone, twirling his own sword in his hand a few times just to get accustomed to the weight. "And Maker help me, if you pull a knife out of your arse again-"

"Oh for _crying out loud,_ Gilmore – you have _got_ to get over that."

"Nobody likes a cheat, Cousland."

I let out a loud, long-suffering sigh and grabbed the first sword I saw on the rack, not bothering to check it over. The training swords weren't sharpened, for obvious reasons. As long as it wasn't about to break apart in my hands, its condition didn't matter to me.

I glanced back at Gilmore, who was clearly preparing to beat the ever-loving crap out of me.

Okay. Maybe its condition matters a little.

"Before we start," I began, holding up my hands a little defensively, "I think we should all take this time to remind ourselves that there is a code of honour in place that should be upheld."

Gilmore smirked. "Nice try Cousland, but since _when_ did you uphold a code of honour?"

"I can't help it if I'm a lovable rapscallion."

"You're definitely _something,"_ he grumbled, mostly to himself as he pulled back into a defensive position.

Something tells me I'm very quickly going to regret this.

There were a couple of tense seconds as neither of us moved, patiently waiting for the other to strike. I don't typically like striking first - not when my opponent can see me, at any rate. Gilmore knows that. That's would be why he's waiting, watching me critically, waiting to see which dirty trick I'd try first.

Part of me wants to be offended at how utterly convinced he is that I'll inevitably cheat. But the rest of me knows that he's got plenty of reason to think that. I do cheat. I cheat all the time. It's become something akin to a habit at this point.

Losing isn't an option.

He evidently got sick of waiting for me and swung at me. I moved to block, too slow. The blunted edge of Gilmore's practice blade made contact with my side, its momentum sending me staggering into the wooden fence that surrounded the yard. I clutched it as I fought to stay standing, gasping for air while Gilmore laughed, casually twirling his blade in amusement.

"Oh come _on._ You think I'm falling for that?"

Immediately, I stopped panting and sighed, pulling away from the fence. "Worth a shot."

Can't have expected it to work. He's still not over the last time I did this. Namely the part where I pulled out a knife he didn't know I had and hurled it at his face and attacked him while he was distracted. Well, just left of his face. I wasn't actually aiming to kill him, no matter what he thinks.

So instead, I whirled back around to face him, coming in with a powerful swing, which he blocked, bringing both swords up and out of harm's way. My blade slid against his until it hit the crossguard, and consequently we found ourselves locking blades.

I paled a little. He's clearly stronger than I am – cue all the jokes about me being too wiry for a nobleman – so this is exactly not the situation I want to be in.

Only one thing for it.

I brought my knee up, slamming into his groin with all the force I could possibly manage. Gilmore staggered before falling to the ground, letting a string of violent cusses and insults as he did. I pulled away just enough so he couldn't grab me and force me down with him, watching impassively as he crumpled, his sword clattering uselessly to the ground.

It was cheap. It was a cheap, nasty, dirty trick that I should've felt shame for using, as it was detrimental to my honour and that of my house. I should have cared. More than I did, at any rate. I never really got the concept of soldier's honour. I mean, it causes you to not take advantage of so many perfect opportunities all in the name of _fairness_ and frankly, what good is that when you inevitably get killed by someone who doesn't care as much as you?

He tried to reach for his sword, which I obviously couldn't have. With perhaps a little more force than necessary, I stepped on his wrist, pinning his arm to the ground while the tip of my blade hovered threateningly over his jugular. For a moment, he struggled beneath me, only to gasp in pain when I put a little more weight on his wrist. Gilmore glared up at me, like he couldn't quite conceive how I was even real.

 _"You-"_

I gave him a small, crooked smile and stepped off his wrist without moving my sword. "Now, now. Do the honourable thing and accept your defeat graciously."

 _"Honourable?"_ he repeated as he batted my blade away and scrambled to his feet. "After you just- …that is _it!"_

And with that, he promptly socked me in the face.

I staggered back from the force of the blow while Gilmore charged at me, tackling me to the ground.

"Gil-" I gasped desperately as I fought to avoid being pummelled to a bloody pulp. "Gilmore you're being-" I grunted as pain once again exploded across my face, "-a sore loser."

"Can you even go _five seconds_ without screwing someone over?" he demanded, furiously. "You're a disgrace to your family."

I let out a breathless chuckle. _"Ouch._ Low blow."

"Don't pretend you don't deserve it!"

"It was just a _joke,_ you sodding lunatic!"

Somehow, he didn't appreciate that, and his fist connected with my jaw again, the force of the blow jerking my head to one side. My lip split under his fist, and I spat out a small glob of blood, which earned me a blessed respite, however short-lived it ultimately turned out to be. I think Gilmore just wanted to bask in the satisfaction of seeing me bleed. He certainly didn't get off me in the few seconds he wasn't punching me in the face.

"Screw it," I grunted, before headbutting Gilmore with all the strength I had. He reeled back in pain, giving me an opportunity to push him off me and get the upper hand myself. Or at least, try to.

It was all kind of a mess after that as we scrapped, trading increasingly violent insults.

And then;

"Eugene _Cousland!"_ an aghast voice called over the top of the abuse we were hurling at each other.

Immediately, we both stopped exactly where we were, frozen mid-tangle in the middle of the training yard. I glanced, somewhat sheepishly, at my mother who stood motionless next to a laughing Oren, looking like she was inches away from murder.

Knowing her, she probably was.

 _Now_ I'm in for it.

With a small smile, I looked back at Gilmore and swiftly kissed his cheek. "There's always more where that came from should you want it, darling."

 _"Get off,"_ he snarled in response, shoving me away from him.

I rolled onto my back and for a time remained there, giggling like an idiot as Gilmore forced himself back up into a sitting position, his chest heaving. For too long, I lay motionless as my mother strode across the training yard until she stood over me, glaring down with that oh so familiar look of quiet disapproval.

"Mother!" I called to her affectionately as I got back to my feet, casually wiping away the blood from my lip. "Dearest, _darling_ Mother. You look absolutely _ravishing._ What brings you to the training yard on this most fine and beautiful morn?"

Despite the fact that it's no longer the morning, but oh well.

Her eyebrow quirked at my words and she looked thoroughly unimpressed by my attempts to talk myself out of getting yelled at. It never seems to work for me, and yet I keep doing it. Maker only knows why. Nobody knows where I get it from.

"Please return my grandson to Brother Aldous," Mother directed at one of the nearby soldiers, who briefly saluted before gently coaxing Oren away, before she returned to glare at me. "I need to have a _word_ with my son."

I groaned and rolled my shoulders back. "Mother-"

"Do _not,"_ she cut across me sharply, eyes glinting like daggers.

"We were just-"

"Brawling in the dirt like small boys and setting a _fine_ example for your nephew?" she suggested scathingly.

 _Well…_ yes. Okay. She has me there.

I shifted uncomfortably, not knowing what to say. There wasn't really anything I _could_ say at that point that would help my case. So instead, I acted like a petulant child and shunned her gaze because I'm so incredibly mature, as is obvious to anyone who knows me.

Rather than continue scolding me, Mother just sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"It would seem your hound has the kitchens in an uproar," she told me plainly. _"Again."_

I blinked several times. "Okay. And you want me to…?"

"Go and collect him, Eugene. And at least _try_ to restrain him," she said slowly, as if she was worried I wouldn't understand otherwise, before turning to the battered and bruised Gilmore who stood motionless a couple of paces away from me. "Ser Gilmore, would you be kind enough to accompany him?"

Gilmore looked as though he'd rather anything else in the world, but ultimately didn't comment on it. Instead, he gave a stiff nod, just as he was supposed to. He might not give _me_ any respect, but he'll never refuse. Too much of a soldier to ever question an order from the teyrna.

"Of course, my lady."

Once, I asked him what he'd do if his commanding officer ordered him to do something horrifying, like murder a group of innocent children or something, if he would end up going through with it. Which he would ultimately pick, if he was ever forced to choose between his honour or his morality. He actually had to stop and think about it. To this day he still hasn't given me an answer, and the thought terrifies me.

My lip curled. "Do I need assistance to fetch my own dog now? Afraid I'll burn down the kitchens if I'm left alone?"

"Ignoring that time you _did_ in fact start a fire in the kitchens," Gilmore muttered under his breath behind me.

"First of all, that was a _small mishap,"_ I hissed back. "And also, _you're not helping."_

He shrugged innocently at me. "I'm not trying to help."

No. Of course not. Why would Gilmore ever be inclined to help me, in any situation?

Mother just folded her arms and gave me a withering glare. "I trust you'll be able to manage this _without_ tearing each other apart?"

I groaned quietly. "Of course, Mother."

She nodded, although remained looking as unimpressed as ever. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have guests to attend to."

And with that, she left, leaving both me and Gilmore standing motionless in the middle of the training yard, both looking somewhat shamefaced. I don't know how she does that - incites guilt so easily. Is it every mother who can do that, or just mine? I'm not sure how to feel about it either way.

After a brief pause, Gilmore slapped my back. "Right. The kitchens."

I sighed and glanced up at the sky. "The kitchens."

I vacated the training yard with my head held high, trying to salvage whatever dignity I had left after being completely and utterly emasculated by my mother in full view of probably everyone. I didn't want to think about what had gotten her in such a foul mood - probably me, it's always me, why do I even pretend it's something other than me - or how it was going to affect the remainder of the day. Things are already stressful enough, regardless, what with the vast majority of our forces marching south soon. We're really just waiting on Amaranthine's soldiers at the moment.

Everyone's preparing for war and here I am. Having to deal with my dog.

What an exciting, adventurous life I lead.

"Here Eugene," I muttered grumpily to myself as I made my way towards the oh so familiar sound of Nan screaming a colourful range of expletives. "Have a mabari. They're highly intelligent and steadfastly loyal. You'll love him. Let's not mention the fact that he's easily bored and will go out of his way to stir up trouble you'll inevitably have to deal with."

"You know, most people would kill to have their own mabari war hound," Gilmore pointed out dryly as he trailed behind me.

I stopped, turning on my heels to face him. "Are you _still here?"_

He stopped too, folding his arms and looking mildly defensive. "Your mother-"

"Asked you to come with me, I know. I was there," I finished for him tiredly, quickly resuming making my way to the kitchens. "But she's not here and we both know you don't need or even want to be here."

"You insisting I leave you alone is only giving me more reasons to stay, you know."

"Maker, Gilmore, are you my friend or my nursemaid?"

His eyebrows rose at that. "Right now?"

I groaned. "Alright, fine. Forget I asked."

So he's still mad about earlier. Because of course he is. I live to annoy, irritate, and alienate people, apparently. It's a gift. One that no one appreciates, but a gift nonetheless.

"Get that _bloody mutt_ out of the larder!" I heard Nan's voice screech as we neared the kitchens.

"Oh great," I moaned, running a hand through my hair. "She's _pissed."_

It's not surprising. After all, why _wouldn't_ she be? It takes surprisingly little to set Nan off. Mistakes when making the food. Too many people to cook for. Not enough people to cook for. A dirty rag left in the wrong spot. A wrong word. A wilful attitude. An errant dog…

From behind me, Gilmore laughed. "Good luck in there."

I turned to face him, eyebrows raised questioningly. "What? You're not coming in with me, Ser Nursemaid?"

He shook his head and leaned against the thick stone wall that made up part of the castle. "I'm sure you're more than capable of handling this little incident on your own, Lord Cousland."

More like he just wants to avoid being in the line of fire.

Bloody coward.

I gave him one last withering glare before letting out a thoroughly melodramatic sigh and pushing the door open, waltzing into the kitchens without a hint of fear - just to prove to Gilmore how pathetic he's being, even though I fully intended to shrink against the wall in an attempt to melt into it the second he couldn't see me anymore.

The kitchens themselves were a mess – even more so than usual. Everything seemed to be in disarray, and I could tell just by looking that this was all the result of Nan rampaging, not my dog. Quickly, and as quietly as possible, I shut the door behind me, hoping to maybe sneak in and out without drawing Nan's attention, since she seemed to be on the verge of throwing things.

It was an idealistic goal, one I knew I would never achieve, but I had to try nonetheless.

 _"You!"_ she practically screeched as she saw me edging along the wall. "Your _bloody mongrel_ keeps getting into my larder! That beast should be _put down."_

So much for stealth.

I leaned against the wall and sighed.

"He's not a _mongrel,_ Nan," I argued. "He's a pureblood mabari."

And I will tell everyone that at every available opportunity because dammit, this is _Ferelden_ and a dog being a purebred mabari is important.

"A _blight wolf_ is what he is! How am I supposed to work like this?"

"Have you tried locking the door?" I suggested, deciding there and then to be as unhelpful as possible.

She threw me a disgusted look. "If I locked it any tighter, _we_ won't be able to get in! And I'll thank you not to make stupid suggestions."

Ah, Nan. Warm and inviting as ever.

I opened my mouth to reply, but was cut off by the sound of something crashing in the larder, followed by a string of excited barking. Almost immediately, Nan rounded on me, and I flinched away from her. For a moment, everything was still and silent, save for Kiba's racket in the larder. Then, finally, Nan turned away from me, letting out a long, exhausted sigh.

"That's it!" she cried, throwing her hands up into the air. "I'll _quit!_ Inform the teyrna. I'll go cook at some nice estate in the Bannorn."

And there it is. I'd try to act more surprised, but she pulls this routine every other week. We all know full well that that she'll die before she ever leaves Highever. Nan's nothing if not melodramatic.

 _"Nan…"_ I groaned.

She made a point of completely ignoring me, turning back to the kitchen counter and sifting through the assorted pots and pans, at least until she realised that no one was moving.

"You two!" she barked, turning to a pair of elves I recognised as Adney and Cath, who seemed to be frozen in place. "Stop standing there like idiots – _get out of the way!"_

They didn't need to be told twice. Both of them immediately snapped back into reality, quickly scrambling as far away from the larder door as they could get. Nan, meanwhile, rounded on me once again.

"Eugene Cousland," she thundered, _"Why_ are you just _standing there?"_

Anyone else would've been so intimidated by her tone that they would've scurried off to the larder without another word. I, however, have been dealing with her my entire life. And I like to see just how far I can push her before something blows up.

"How did he get into the larder this time?" I asked casually, folding my arms and adopting a small smirk, which I knew she didn't appreciate in the slightest.

"How in the blazes am _I_ supposed to know?" she demanded. "He up and walked through the wall, I expect! That hound isn't natural. I see it in his eyes – he does this just to torment me!"

"Yes, Nan. It's all just for you. It's all part of his vendetta against you."

"I've had about enough of your lip, young man. That hound should be in the kennels, _not_ wandering the castle!"

"If you can't keep him out of the larder, how do you expect to keep him _in_ the kennels?"

That earned me a glare and little else. "Just get the infernal beast out! I can't make _anything_ if I _can't_ get into the _larder!"_

"Alright, alright! I'm going. Maker's _balls,_ woman."

 _"Language!"_

I sighed. There is just no escaping it, is there?

Slowly, I walked up to the larder door, staring at the wood, knowing whatever was beyond it would probably be a death sentence. At least in Nan's eyes.

I pushed the larder door, biting my lip and praying to the Maker that Kiba hadn't done _too_ much damage, so Nan didn't have free cause to totally explode at me. The door swung open with an ominous creak to reveal… Kiba, sitting on the floor, chewing on what looked like an extremely dead… I think it was a rat? It looked like a rat. it looked like it could've been any sort of rodent, actually.

Okay. _Ew._

"Kiba," I called his name, not quite sure how to deal with what I seeing.

At the call of his name, Kiba perked up, his tail started wagging and he began to get up, stretching as he did so. I stood completely motionless as he happily walked over to me, clearly expecting praise and affection.

He still had a dead rat clamped firmly in his jaws at this point, mind you.

Slowly, I looked back at Nan, who was watching Kiba with a curled lip.

"That had better be all you've eaten, you blighted mongrel," she snarled at the dog, who remained too pleased with himself to care about the fact that he was being scolded.

I stretched and yawned. "Okay. Good. Well, if that's all, I'll be going now."

With that, I ushered Kiba out of the larder, pausing as some freshly cooked rolls caught my attention. Carefully, I glanced at Nan, who didn't seem to be paying attention to me anymore; too wound up and confused over how to take Kiba's brief rat-killing escapade. Slowly, I reached out to take one.

Almost immediately, I felt a blast of sharp pain explode across my hand as Nan slapped me with all the strength she could muster – a terrifying amount for such an old woman. Granted, an old, _crotchety_ woman, but still. I pulled back, holding my hand to my chest, pouting and looking hurt.

"Nan!"

She just glared at me. "You'll wait for supper along with everybody else, young man."

"Oh come on Nan… I haven't eaten _all day."_

"And _whose_ fault is that?" she snarled. "Don't think I'll let you off easy."

"I _did_ just save you from the wrath of my dog."

Her lip curled. "You know full-well that it's _your_ bloody fault the mutt got in there in the first place!"

"Not even for old time's sake?"

Nan folded her arms, unimpressed. "You're not nearly half as charming as you think you are."

I blinked. "Wow. If that's the case, I must think I'm pretty spectacularly charming."

 _"Eugene."_

"Superbly charming. Completely irresistible. Super-humanly charismatic."

Nan shook her head at me, clearly not in the mood to deal with my antics. Although I don't think I remember a time she's _ever_ had the patience to deal with my antics. Instead, she reassumed ordering about the other kitchen staff. She's good at that.

"Adney, get moving with those casks!" she screamed, twisting around to glare at one of the scurrying elves under her command. "And Cath, do you think you can serve that to the teyrn with dirt from the floor all over it?"

Adney shook his head slightly at that and turned away. _"Miserable old bat,"_ he muttered under his breath.

Which of course, Nan heard him say.

 _"Old bat,_ am I?" she shrieked. "We've got to work _double time_ on supper! Sweep out the hearths, no complaining!"

Good old Nan. She never changes.

"Busy day?" I asked dryly.

"Just keeping order," she replied. "That's why your father keeps me on. The good Maker knows I needn't take care of _you_ anymore."

I smiled slyly. "Not that it ever stopped you."

She slapped my shoulder, and though I knew she put no real force behind the blow, it still stung a little. She glanced up at me, grumpy and stern as ever, before her expression softened, ever so slowly.

"Thank you for coming to your old nanny's rescue. That _blasted_ hound is more trouble than he's worth."

I pulled a face. "Nan. You're going to hurt his feelings."

"I don't give a _rat's arse_ about his damn _feelings,"_ she ground out furiously, before letting out an exhausted sigh and looking me over. "But what about you, my lord? Been keeping safe and well behaved, I hope?"

"Why would I say anything but yes?"

"Ha! Clever whelp. That mouth of yours will get you into trouble one day."

"You know, people keep saying that, and yet it never has."

She shook her head and turned away, trying to hide her smirk. "Be off with you then. And keep that infernal hound under control."

I gave her a small mock-salute before ushering Kiba out the door.

Gilmore was still there when I emerged with Kiba in tow, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, casually inspecting his fingernails as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I suppose to him, it is. He's been more or less assigned to me and my well-being since he came here to squire all those years ago.

Because I'm apparently the kind of person my father has to _order_ people to be friends with.

"Success?" he called to me without looking up.

Ah, indifference. Can't have that. Luckily, I have a dog at my disposal.

"Sic him, Kiba."

Gilmore barely had time to move before the great big lumbering mabari dropped the dead rat and bounded towards him, tongue lolling out of his mouth, jumping up and demanding to be given love and attention. Gilmore, initially surprised and expecting something much worse, let out a shout of laughter and scratched the dog behind his ears.

"I don't think your mighty beast is in the mood," he noted.

I shrugged and walked right past him. "Give him time. He'll surprise you."

Gilmore let out a quiet sigh and jogged after me, though he didn't bother to say anything. We headed back to the training yard in silence, which was a pretty rare thing, just in and of itself. Kiba quickly fell into step beside me, acting as though he'd been with me all day and none of his little adventure in the kitchens ever happened. I'm not sure if it was just gone from his mind, or if he was trying to make _me_ forget what happened. I think he could tell that I wasn't exactly pleased with him.

Mabaris can always tell, somehow.

"My lord Cousland!" I heard someone yell from behind me.

I let out an exhausted and groan and turned on my heels to face the speaker, rolling my eyes dramatically.

"Yes? What? Is there a _single issue_ in this _entire damn castle_ that doesn't demand my immediate attention?"

The servant who'd called out my name in the first place stopped dead in his tracks, looking pale and frankly terrified at the idea of having run into me in a less than stellar mood. All the servants get like that when I'm snappish. I don't remember ever giving them a reason to feel that way – and yet, here we are. Maybe that's just my lot in life as the teyrn's son.

Ah, the perils of nobility.

"I- uh, apologies, my lord, but your father has sent for you," the man spluttered out all at once.

My brow creased. "Can it wait? I'm supposed to be-"

"I'm afraid it's quite urgent, my lord."

"Of course it is," I sighed, glancing back at Gilmore. "Looks like I won't be joining you back in the yard after all. What a pity."

He smirked. "Probably for the best; clear the way for the rest of us to practise. Who knows? We may even get some _actual training_ done."

I gave a very loud and thoroughly melodramatic gasp, holding my hand to my heart. "Egad! You _wound me,_ Ser Gilmore."

My father's messenger shifted uncomfortably as he watched this exchange, looking for me to Gilmore and back again several times, clearly anxious to get me on my way to see my father and whatever vitally important piece of information he wishes to tell me in person. I sighed and rolled my eyes in Gilmore's direction, carefully mouthing the words _can you believe this?_

Gilmore just laughed.

"Go," he said, giving me a gentle shove. "I'll deal with your hound."

Right. He'll deal with my hound, while I prepare to deal with my father. At this point, I'm not sure which one I'd rather. I can't think why he'd summon me now, of all times. Perhaps Mother told him about my less-than-chivalrous conduct in the yard.

The more I think about it, the more likely it looks.

Must I be scolded by every single authority figure in the castle? What's next? Aldous finds me and drags me off to the library to read some of the dullest books imaginable while droning on and on and _on_ about some agonisingly tedious subject no one could possibly care less about? Mallol locks me in the chantry and forces me to recite the entirety of the Canticle of Benedictions? I don't even _know_ the entire Canticle of Benedictions!

"So, where is my beloved father?" I asked the servant I was now following towards the main castle complex.

"I believe the teryn is currently in the Great Hall, discussing matters with the arl," came the reply.

I blinked several times. "The arl?"

All that got me was a curt nod - which apparently was supposed to explain everything. I sighed quietly to myself and kept walking, quickly going through a process of elimination. I mean, the arl had to mean Arl Rendon Howe, since it's _his_ troops we're waiting on, but if he's here, his soldiers would be too. And yet, they're not. Because I'd have noticed if the castle suddenly became flooded with Amaranthine's army.

Which means something's happened.

And that's never a good thing.

At this rate, by the time we start heading south, the battles will already be over, and the darkspawn will all be dead.

I bit my lip at the thought. Darkspawn. _Actual darkspawn._ On the surface. For the first time in centuries. Is it bad that part of me is curious?

Probably. Yes. That's probably very bad.

The monsters from storybooks that everyone thought have been gone for literally ages suddenly turn up again? Who _wouldn't_ be a little curious? Father said he had the same sort of reaction when dragons started reappearing at the closing of the last age.

Now that I think about it, I'd probably take a high dragon over darkspawn.

Slowly, carefully, I cracked the door to the main hall open and peeked inside, not quite sure what to do with myself. Still trying to be as quiet as possible, I slipped inside, leaning slightly on the door until it clicked shut behind me, only to find my father and - surprise, it was indeed Arl Howe - casually chatting like old friends on the other side of the hall from me.

Slowly, I edged my way along the wall towards them, not quite sure how to announce my presence. Not sure if I even should. There was nothing particularly appealing about being scolded by my father in full view of everyone - particularly a visitor. Even if that visitor is Rendon Howe, who I'm sure has witnessed me being scolded more times than he could bother to count. It's pretty much inevitable for anyone who's known me as long as he has. I know what he thinks of me. That I'm wilful. That I'm a troublemaker. That my father should keep me on a shorter leash.

He seems to tolerate me less and less every time he comes here. Like the older I get, the more he thinks I'm not taking life seriously.

I mean, he's right of course, but still.

Sometimes I worry he'll convince my father to have me shipped off to the Free Marches, just like Nathaniel.

In any case, neither of them noticed me. Arl Howe seemed to be too busy being apologetic towards my father about his soldiers being delayed, while my father was of course was brushing it off and casually assuring him that it was all fine, that these things happen, that they could work around it.

That's Teyrn Bryce Cousland for you. Forever reasonable and understanding. All too ready to forgive people for any transgression.

"I'll send my eldest off with my men," Father said calmly, before breaking out into a wide smile. "You and I will ride tomorrow, just like the old days."

The corners of Arl Howe's lips quirked at the comment. "True. Though we both had less grey in our hair then. And we fought _Orlesians,_ not _monsters."_

Father laughed - louder and more raucous than I was used to. He was usually so reserved, hearing him crack jokes and banter with an old friend was nothing short of jarring. I don't get to see him like this. I forget he's even capable of being this light and carefree.

"At least the smell will be the same," he joked.

And making jokes about the people he was fighting back during the rebellion against Orlais. At least, I'm pretty sure it was a joke. I've never met an Orlesian. How am I meant to know?

"Ah, I'm sorry, pup; I didn't see you there," Father called as he spotted me lurking against the wall.

I was far enough away that he didn't notice me rolling my eyes at his use of a nickname that got old something like a decade ago. I wish he'd let me grow out of it already. Unfortunately, my father seems bent on seeing me as a small boy forever. I've always been his little boy. Sometimes I wonder if he'll ever allow me to be anything else, or if I'll be a coddled child forever.

"It's good you're-" Father began, only to cut off as he saw the state of my face. "…what happened to your lip?"

I stared at him absently before realising what he was talking about. Quickly, my hand shot up, my fingertips gently brushing over the cut as I desperately tried to think of what to say. Apparently, he _hadn't_ been told about what happened in the yard.

If that's the case, why have I been summoned here?

No time to think about it.

"It's nothing," I told him airily. "Just an accident."

If you can call getting repeatedly punched in the face by Gilmore an _accident._

Father's brow creased at that - which either meant he was genuinely worried about my well-being, or he didn't quite buy it. It was impossible to tell which. Although it could've been both.

Maybe it was both.

It was probably both.

"You need to be more careful," he reprimanded me quietly, before quickly shaking it off and returning his attention to his guest. "Rendon, you remember my son?"

Arl Howe gave me a quick appraisal like a farmer would their stock, or someone would goods at a market. "I see he's grown into a fine young man. Pleased to see you again, lad."

That's… probably a lie. The only part of me he's reliably pleased about is the fact that I'm an eligible noble's son who happens to be the same age as his daughter. Not that me or Delilah have ever shown even the slightest romantic interest in each other. I mean, sure, she's nice enough, and there are probably worse people to be paired up with, but, well, it's marriage. It's a lifelong thing and I just don't have that kind of level of commitment. To literally anything.

More than that, it's a pretty well established fact that she thinks I'm an asshole.

I'd be offended if pretty much everyone who knows me at all didn't also happen to share that opinion.

Rather than mention any of that, I inclined my head slightly, just enough to seem courteous. "Is your family here with you, my lord?"

It suddenly occurred to me that this man is a close friend of my father's, that he's known both me and Fergus since we were born, and I don't know anything about him. I'm not sure I've ever actually had a real conversation with him. How many times has he been here? How many times has he brought his family with him? I effectively grew up beside Nathaniel, Delilah and Thomas. They used to be practically siblings to me - yet one more reason I'd rather not marry Delilah if I don't have to. And for all that, what do I actually know about the Howes?

Clearly not as much as I should, considering it's only a matter of time until I inevitably end up married to one of them. Because _it's your responsibility Eugene_ and _this is how you cement alliances_ and _it's part of being someone of your station._

Never have I wanted to be a commoner so badly.

Maker. Now I just sound like the protagonist in an Orlesian tragedy, desperate to marry for love rather than convenience and power.

It's all so pathetic, I can't believe how pathetic it actually is.

"Oh, no. I left them back in Amaranthine, well away from the fighting in the south," the arl answered after a pause, a warm smile spreading across his face. "They do send their best wishes. In fact, Delilah asked after you. Perhaps I should bring her next time."

And _there_ it is.

I swallowed uncomfortably. "I- uh…"

Oh _Maker._

Save me.

Quickly, I glanced at my father, silently begging him to do something, to get me out of this, to change the subject before anything along the lines of _wedding plans_ came up.

"At any rate, pup, I summoned you for a reason," Father directed at me, seeing my distress and opting to change the subject as quickly as possible. "While your brother and I are both away, I'm leaving you in charge of the castle."

I blinked.

"What?"

My father's eyebrows rose slightly at my reply.

"I- I mean… _what?"_ I choked out finally.

Father didn't seem to pay my shock any mind whatsoever. "Only a token force is remaining here, and you must keep peace in the region. You know what they say about mice when the cat is away, yes?"

But… I thought…

Wasn't I supposed to be going with them? Isn't that what we decided, back when the king first put out the call? Father said-

 _No,_ some snide voice in the corner of my mind told me. _He never said anything. You just assumed he'd take you along._

How was I _not_ supposed to think that? What with the increased training, and him constantly making sure I studied the known history of darkspawn and the previous Blights? What else was I supposed to get from that? Here, learn all these things about darkspawn, so you know what _everyone else_ is dealing with while you stay up here in the castle, far away from anything?

How much longer is he going to _do_ this to me?

"And Mother can't do this because… _why?"_ I asked, doing nothing to mask the scathing tone in my voice.

Rather than answer, Father simply reached out and grabbed my upper arm, before pulling me away from Arl Howe and out of earshot.

"Why can't I go with you and Fergus?" I demanded in a loud whisper, before he could say anything.

"Your place isn't in the army," he told me sharply, all business now. "It's here, with your mother."

My lip curled in disgust and I wrenched myself out of his grip. "I can _fight!"_

"I know that."

"So why can't I _go?"_

"War isn't a _game,"_ Father said, careful to keep the growing heat in his voice to a minimum. "You're barely eighteen, you've never been in a real fight before-"

"And whose fault is _that?"_

For a second, he watched me, opening his mouth as if he was going to snap back at me, but he thought better of it. He turned away from me, looking back out at the rest of the hall and Arl Howe, who was watching us quietly argue with an expression of curiosity and mild amusement.

"Listen to me," my father said, gently placing a hand on my shoulder. "We can't all disappear south. Someone needs to stay behind so we still have a home to return to."

"Then why not Fergus? Isn't _he_ the heir? What do I need to know about running the teyrnir?"

 _"Pup…"_ he groaned exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He was clearly tired of having this argument, which was idiotic, because we _both_ knew that we wouldn't _have_ this argument if he just trusted me; if he just realised that I'm not the sickly, fragile child he thinks I still am. I'd have thought he'd know that by now.

"What's the point in me training to fight at all if I'm not allowed to use it?"

"So you can defend yourself _if need be,"_ he snapped back at me. _"Not_ so you can go riding off to war."

"But you and Fergus can?"

"I'm not arguing this."

"Father-"

 _"Enough,"_ he cut across me sharply. "You're staying here, end of discussion."

I let out an incomprehensible growl that quickly turned into a defeated sigh as I realised that there was no way I could win this. So instead, I gave a small, thoroughly sarcastic smile and nodded slightly. I can't believe this. I can't believe he's doing this to me _again._ Always with the same excuse of _you're too young_ and _you don't know what war is like._ How am I supposed to know what war's like until I actually experience it for myself? How much longer is he going to keep trying to protect me from things I don't need to be protected from?

At this point, I don't know why I even try.

"There's also someone you must meet," Father told me in a tone that was far too bright considering the argument we'd been having thirty seconds ago, twisting around to face one of the guards. "Please, show Duncan in."

The guard quickly saluted and marched out. I watched him go, my eyes narrowing slightly as I returned my gaze to my father.

"Duncan?" I repeated, thoroughly confused.

Father just smiled slyly, as if it were all some big pre-planned surprise he didn't want to spoil. I resisted the almost overwhelming urge to roll my eyes. I hate it when he gets like this.

Duncan, as it turned out, was a tall, powerful looking man garbed in a set of heavy armour who seemed to wear an expression of perpetual seriousness and somehow command respect just by being in the room. He strode across the hall towards us, and I quickly found myself shrinking back, subconsciously trying to hide behind my father as if I was a small boy scared of strangers all over again.

This man was clearly someone I really, _really_ didn't want to cross.

"It is an honour to be a guest within your hall, Teyrn Cousland," he said smoothly, nodding briefly at my father.

"Your Lordship!" Arl Howe exclaimed. "You didn't mention that a Grey Warden would be present."

Father rolled his shoulders back and exhaled quietly, something he only does when he's feeling tense and trying to relax. "Duncan arrived just recently. Unannounced. Is there a problem?"

Arl Howe paused for just a fraction of a second, before smiling a little. "No, no, of course not. You've merely taken me by surprise. I'm at a disadvantage."

"We rarely have the pleasure of seeing one in person, that's true," Father replied, before turning back to me. "Pup, Brother Aldous taught you who the Grey Wardens _are,_ I hope?"

Oh _please_ tell me you're kidding. Do I know who the Grey Wardens are. _Of course_ I know who the Grey Wardens are. You can't study the history of the Blights and not learn about the order specifically created to fight it, at any cost. Of course, they haven't been all that relevant for the past couple of ages, so I could probably be forgiven even if I didn't know.

It was then I realised that they wanted slightly more from me than a stiff nod.

I sighed. "They defeated the darkspawn during the last Blight."

And every other Blight, not that it really matters. Because they come back. It's starting to seem like they'll _always_ come back.

And now they've surfaced again, though I haven't heard anyone throw the word _Blight_ around just yet. People don't like to call it that until there's no doubt. And by 'no doubt', I mean 'an Archdemon has been conclusively spotted multiple times commanding the horde'.

"Not permanently, I fear," Duncan replied quietly, pulling me back into reality.

"Without their warning of the darkspawn rising now, half the nation could've been overrun before we'd had a chance to react," Father continued, barely paying any mind to the Warden's comment. "Duncan is looking for recruits before joining us and his fellow Wardens in the south. I believe he's got his eye on Ser Gilmore."

My eyebrows rose questioningly. Gilmore? A Grey Warden? _Really?_

I smiled slightly as I tried to imagine him in the full Warden regalia, only to find that the blue of the uniform clashed badly with the orange of his hair. He'd never pull it off.

Would Gilmore even be _interested_ in joining the Wardens? More than that, would I actually survive being stuck here without him? I mean, do I actually have any real friends, other than him?

I elected not to think about it. The truth was just too depressing.

"If I might be so bold," Duncan cut in, gesturing vaguely at me, "I would suggest that your son is also an excellent candidate."

I blinked several times in surprise. "I- uh… what?"

The Warden's eyes slid to me at the sound of my voice.

"I saw you training in the yard this morning," he told me pleasantly.

I blinked several times at his words, not quite comprehending what was being said. He- …he _saw_ me training this morning? This morning, with Gilmore? This morning with Gilmore when I quite clearly _cheated_ and we ended up brawling on the ground? He _saw_ all of that? The _Grey Warden_ saw that and thought; _good candidate?_

"Uh…" I began awkwardly, unsure of how to quite explain what happened without incriminating myself to my father. "That wasn't-"

"Regardless of your conduct, you have a remarkable ingenuity," he cut across me smoothly. "And you are far from unskilled."

"…thank you?"

"Honour though that might be, this is one of my _sons_ we're talking about," Father replied sharply, quickly stepping to the side to partially block me from Duncan's line of sight.

Here we go again.

He always gets defensive every single time someone comments on how I'm reasonably competent at fighting.

"Father-" I began quietly.

"You did just say that the Grey Wardens are _heroes,_ Bryce," Arl Howe cut across me.

"I've not so many children that I'll gladly see them all off to battle," Father argued, careful to remain as calm as possible as he returned his attention to Duncan. "Unless you plan to enforce the Right of Conscription…?"

Suddenly, we all turned to face the Warden with questioning looks. My father, despite his calm, quiet tone, looked about ready to challenge Duncan to a duel if it came to that.

Duncan, however, simply raised his hands defensively. "Have no fear. We need all the good recruits we can get, but I have no intention of forcing the issue."

For a moment, there was silence as Father continued to watch him warily, still careful to keep me blocked from Duncan's line of sight. I let out a small sigh and folded my arms, patiently waiting for my father back down. He always does this. He _keeps_ doing this, and there's nothing I can do to make him stop. And it's just for me. He doesn't act this way with Mother, or Fergus, or even Oren. I mean, I know why. I wasn't the healthiest child and my parents used to fear for my life almost constantly. It's pretty much just a reflex at this point.

Somehow, that doesn't help.

"Pup, can you ensure that Duncan's requests are seen to while I'm gone?" Father asked, drawing my focus back on the conversation.

I nodded stiffly, my gaze sliding to Duncan as my mind quickly spiralled into a panic over being alone with this man.

"In the meantime, find Fergus and tell him to lead the troops to Ostagar ahead of me."

My eyes narrowed. "What? Why?"

My father smiled and clasped my shoulder reassuringly. "I'll ride out tomorrow when Howe's men arrive. Be a good lad and do as I've asked. We'll talk soon."

And with that, I was politely sent on my way.

With a deliberately loud sigh, I turned heel and moved away, trying not to think about the resentment that bubbled up inside me. It's not like Father doesn't have a good reason for leaving me behind.

I hate that.

I hate that he's doing this to me.

I hate that I understand _why._

"The lad is rather wilful, isn't he?" I heard Arl Howe remark as I skulked back to the door.

"He's a young man," my father pointed out tiredly. "And at the age where he wants to start trying to find his own way. I can't fault him for that."

"Perhaps you should try keeping him on a shorter leash."

 _"Thank you,_ Rendon."

I pushed the door open and quickly disappeared through it, careful not to show any inclination that I'd managed to overhear anything. I've been eavesdropping for a long time - there was only so much I could do as a young boy chained to his bed by illness - I practically have it down to an art now. Though I'm sure my father suspects I listen, because I always do. At least he tries to act surprised when I turn out to know things I shouldn't.

I walked along the hallway and back towards the domestic wing of the castle, shivering a little as a draft passed through. How is it I can live in one of the warmest parts of Ferelden and still feel like I'm freezing every time a slight breeze comes in? If I find Highever cold, how must it be in the _south?_

Maybe I should be glad I'm being left behind.

I sighed. Sure. Focus on the positives. Father seems to think that I'm still at a high risk of dropping dead at any given moment, but at least I'll be here where it's warm. Ish. Warm-ish. Warmer? Slightly warmer than the surely appalling conditions at Ostagar.

Why?

 _Why_ is he still treating me like this, when I haven't so much as coughed in the last six years? Why can't he just admit to himself that I'm _fine,_ that there's nothing wrong with me anymore? Why is that so hard for him to accept? Or am I supposed to just play along, and let myself be shut away like before? Am I supposed to just go back to the way everything was before, and pretend nothing's changed? All just to humour him? Because spending the first twelve years of my life like that weren't enough?

Of course it's not enough. It never is.

"Eugene!" I heard my mother call out.

Instantly, I stopped, turning on my heels to face her, only to find her standing in the middle of the hallway, looking me up and down repeatedly with her eyebrows raised as if I've forgotten something.

"Have you even _been_ to the kitchens yet?" she asked me, clearly expecting me to sheepishly tell her I'm going now.

I didn't move. "Funnily enough, yes. Turns out Nan's head exploded and Kiba had killed and eaten the rest of the kitchen staff. Terrible mess. Blood everywhere. It'll take _weeks_ to get the stains out - not to mention replacing the _staff."_

She pulled a face at that. "Well. At least _someone_ in this castle will have had a decent dinner. Where would your hound be now?"

"Gilmore has him," I told her. "So probably in the yard, chewing on some poor bastard's arm."

"I dread to think," she deadpanned.

 _"You_ got him for me," I reminded her a little defensively.

"On the assumption that you would keep him in check," she shot back without missing a beat. "Which you assured us you would."

I shrugged innocently. "I was young and naive. It was a different time."

It was less than two years ago. I was sixteen.

Judging by the look she gave me, Mother was probably thinking the same thing, though she didn't mention it. There were plenty of other things to scold me over right now, and I did do what she wanted.

"You should say goodbye to Fergus while you have the chance," she told me, quickly steering the subject of the conversation away from my dog, though I have a feeling she's going to regret the decision.

My eyes narrowed. "So you knew."

"Knew what, Eugene?"

"That Father wants me to stay behind."

There was a brief pause as she stopped to consider my accusation and how to react to it. Not knowing what else to do, I waited, arms folded and my eyebrows raised questioningly. For what exactly, I didn't know. Confirmation, I guess. Confirmation she was reluctant to give me because she knew as well as I did how betrayed I was feeling over the entire thing.

"It's for the best," she managed finally.

I didn't move. Didn't say anything. I couldn't. Sensing just how I close I was to exploding at her, she quickly reached out and clasped my hands in a gentle, reassuring gesture.

"Listen to me," she murmured. "I know it's difficult to stay in the castle and watch others ride off, but we must see to our duties first. You understand that, don't you?"

 _"What_ duty?" I snapped back harshly, pulling myself out of her grip. "I'm _not_ the heir, remember? I was born about ten years too late for that."

"Should something happen to your brother, you will be," she pointed out. "It's important you're prepared to take on the role of teyrn, just in case."

"So little faith in Fergus," I observed. "If you're already talking about contingency plans."

Why do I sound so surprised? I've always been a contingency plan. That's the whole point of me, after all. There's the heir and at least one spare. I'm the spare. Granted, I wasn't a very _good_ spare at first, due to the constant illness and the astounding frequency with which I almost died - something no one is ever going to let me forget, it seems - but the fact remains.

Mother wasn't amused. Because of course she wouldn't be. "You know that's not what this is about, Eugene."

"You can't expect me to just sit quietly in a locked room my whole life on the off chance something _might_ happen to Fergus."

"You're barely eighteen," she reminded me - because somehow me being young has a significant factor in how well I can fight. Even though it doesn't. And people shouldn't act like it does.

"Yes, and _how_ old were you when you took down your first Orlesian warship?" I asked scathingly.

She sighed. "Darling, _please._ Your father is only trying to protect you. We've almost lost you before."

And there it is again. Because of course. I can't have an argument without it inevitably coming up at some point. Remember that, Eugene? Remember when they almost lost you? How about we remind you? _Constantly,_ every waking second of the rest of your life?

One day. _One day,_ I will be more than a permanently ill twelve-year-old to someone.

"It. Was. Six. _Years ago,"_ I bit out furiously, before throwing my hands up in the air and turning away. "Why am I even bothering? Nothing's going to change, is it?"

"Give it time," she assured me gently. "Trust me, Eugene. You'll get your chance for excitement soon enough."

"Just not right now?" I suggested dryly.

She pulled a face at that, but ultimately, she nodded. "Just not right now," she confirmed.

"The Warden doesn't seem to think so."

Mother seemed to stop dead at my mention of the Warden. For so long, there was nothing but silence between us as she glanced me over several times, clearly unsure of what to think. I just watched her back, myself unsure of what she was looking for.

"Ah. So you met Duncan," she said slowly.

I arched an eyebrow. "Try not to sound _too_ thrilled."

She sighed and shook her head.

"I have no qualms with him," she said in her default diplomatic tone - which she only ever uses when she's trying _really_ hard. "He's perfectly within his rights to look for possible recruits wherever he sees fit."

"But you still don't like the fact that he's here," I observed.

She sighed. "I worry about you."

"Me?" I repeated blandly. _"Why?"_

"Your father told me Duncan has had an eye on Ser Gilmore."

"So?"

"He's been such a good friend to you. I worry about what would happen if he left."

I groaned. "I'm not quite that delicate, Mother."

"And what of you?" she asked. "You haven't gotten it into your head that you want to be _recruited,_ have you?"

"Do you _see_ me running off to join the Wardens?" I asked, gesturing vaguely at myself.

Her eyebrows rose a little. "What I see is a young man desperate to go to war."

"I'm not _that_ desperate," I told her a little defensively.

She didn't seem to have anything to say to that, but the look she gave me remained unconvinced.

"All Duncan did was make a passing remark that I'd make a good recruit," I sighed as I rubbed the back of my neck. "That's it. It doesn't mean anything."

There was a moment of silence as she considered this, still watching me carefully, trying to see if she could find some sign that I was lying on my face. I resisted the almost overwhelming urge to give a long, agitated sigh. I don't know how to make myself any clearer.

"Mother. Listen to me. I am not about to run away and join the Wardens," I told her in as clear a voice as possible.

There was a long, drawn out, utterly _agonising_ silence as she watched me, still trying to work out if what I was saying was genuine or not. I don't know why she's so sceptical of me. It's almost as if she doesn't trust me.

Right. I have no idea where that would come from. Because I've _never_ lied and gone behind my parents' backs before.

And then, finally, she gave a small smile and nodded.

"Keep it that way," she told me curtly. "You've enough to do here. I don't want you off chasing darkspawn."

"Duly noted."

There was a brief moment of silence as Mother looked me over once again, this time looking distant and melancholic. I didn't move, not really knowing what to say, or how to react. Then, she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me in for a tight embrace. There was a brief moment where I didn't resist, due to the fact that it didn't really register in my mind what was happening, at least not at first.

"I love you," she murmured. "My darling boy. You know that, don't you?"

 _"Mother,"_ I groaned, weaselling out from her grasp. "I'm not a child anymore."

Oh, if I had a copper for every time I had to tell someone that exact sentence…

She sighed wistfully, reaching up gently pushing a stray lock of hair of my face. Her expression grew distant once again as she was more than likely caught up in memories of me when I was little. I don't understand how she can look back on those times with a smile on her face. By all accounts, my childhood was about as fun for everyone else as it was for me. Which is to say, not at all.

"You've grown up so fast," she said a little mournfully. "And now Bryce is leaving you in charge of the castle…"

I sighed wistfully. "If only there was something else for me to do. Like, oh I don't know, march south with every other competent combatant in Highever. But, alas."

"Eugene," she called my name in a warning tone, deciding right there and then and she was having none of my casual snark. "You know we're only trying to protect you."

"Yeah, well, you _really_ need to stop."

She gave me a small smile and a gentle slap at that. I sighed and pushed past her.

"In any case, I have to speak with my brother."

For a moment, there was silence. For a moment, I seriously considered the possibility that she'd let me go, without any fuss. It would've been somewhat out-of-character for her, but I still considered the possibility regardless.

And then wasn't entirely surprised when I heard her voice once again.

"Talk to your father," she called after me. "Before he leaves."

I stopped dead in my tracks, before letting out a small, tired groan and slowly twisting around just enough to face her.

"What is that going to change?"

She shook her head. "You don't want to be angry at him, Eugene."

For a moment, there was silence as she gave me a meaningful look, like she expected it to mean absolutely anything. Then she turned around and walked back in the direction of the main hall, leaving me to resume slowly making my way to the domestic wing of the castle.

I shook my head and threw my hands up into the air, at a loss. Today has just been a mess. And it started out so well…

I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. This is such a mess. I don't know where I'm going, or what I'm supposed to be. So many people have all these different expectations and it's impossible to live up to them all. It's impossible to tell whether I'm becoming the person I want to be, or the person everyone _else_ expects me to be.

The corridor echoed with faint voices as I approached the domestic wing, although they were too far away for me to hear what they were actually saying. One, I recognised as Oren's, which didn't come as a huge surprise. Fergus is on the verge of leaving, it makes sense that he'd be with his wife and son before setting out south. Who knows how long the battles would take, how long it would be before we all saw each other again. Father always says we should take moments of happiness where we can.

Father does like to be the optimist.

I let out a quiet sigh and reached out until my fingertips were lightly brushing against the cold stone wall. Suddenly, the castle seems so empty. Lifeless. More like a burden than a safe place. Like the walls are pressing in on me, threatening to crush me at any given moment.

I'm going to die here, I thought dully. I'm going to live out my boring, virtually non-existent life and die, right here, in this castle. I was a fool if I thought I was ever going to escape that. If I thought I was ever going to amount to something other than what I already was. Maker, how are people going to end up remembering me? Eugene Cousland, the contingency plan who never took risks? What kind of a legacy is _that?_

Maybe I should be grateful. Aldous always said those who long for adventure are usually the first to die, either by simple mistakes or acting recklessly. _And your life is far too precious for such foolish thoughts, young lord._

I wonder if he went easy on Oren. I wonder if he blamed my nephew's behaviour on my influence, like most people seem to do. I wonder whether Oren managed to escape on his own again, or if he was allowed to leave, to say goodbye to his father.

I emerged out into the hall that connected all the living quarters together – turning towards the open door of my brother's room, where I could hear Fergus himself saying something to probably Oriana, since Oren was crouched against the wall on the other side of the door, fiddling with something small and wooden; most likely the latest of Fergus' attempts at whittling something. Noticing the shadow I cast across the floor, Oren glanced up, and grinned at me. I quickly touched my finger to my lips, signalling him to be quiet. His grin, if possible, grew all the wider and he nodded fervently, before moving away from the door slightly and watching me carefully cross the hall.

As quietly as possible, I leaned casually on the frame of the door, silently watching my brother and counting the seconds until he noticed me. It's a little game we've been playing for a few years now. He doesn't always believe I'm capable of being quiet and stealthy. This way I prove him wrong and get a bit of a laugh when he jumps in surprise upon noticing me, all at once.

And sure enough, that's exactly what happened.

"Eugene!" he gasped in surprise, pulling away from Oriana and the tender moment they'd been sharing. "How long have you been there?"

I smirked. "Longer than you'd like. Are you two done?"

Fergus just chuckled at that. "When there's a woman in your life, you'll understand."

Please don't be talking about Delilah Howe, _please don't be talking about Delilah Howe…_ Maker. I'm not even officially engaged yet and _already_ I'm panicking about the wedding. It's coming. I know it is. And there's nothing I can do about it, either.

"I'll keep that in mind, brother dearest," I replied in an overly sweet, innocent tone, before letting out a long, tired sigh. "I wish I could go with you."

Fergus just shook his head and gave a small, sad smile. "I wish you _could_ come. It'll be tiring, killing all those darkspawn myself."

"Ten sovereigns says you don't reach one hundred."

He smirked. "Ten sovereigns says I'll reach more than you."

From behind him, Oriana sidled into view, looking me up and down with none of the aggression I expected, given what I'd allowed her son to witness this morning. Maybe she didn't know. Maybe I'd successfully gotten away clean.

Well. I'll just count my blessings, while I can. No doubt Mother will fill her in eventually.

"Surely your father would not place both his heirs in danger?" she asked, looking from Fergus to me and back again with that expression that told me she was, like everybody else, remembering me as I was six years previously.

I let out a harsh sigh and tried to ignore it. If I pay attention to it, it'll only make it worse, I decided. At this point, it seems like Gilmore and Nan are the only people in the entire castle to recognise that it happened _six years ago,_ and more than that, _I don't want to talk about it._ Or be reminded of it. Or anything along those lines.

"It's too bad," Fergus said with a stretch and a small sigh, bringing me back into reality. "I could've used you at my side."

I forced a small, somewhat weary smile. "I'll miss you."

For the briefest of moments, Fergus just watched me, not quite sure what to make of the fact that I was suddenly being the most affectionate I'd possibly ever been. And then, he grinned.

"If it's any consolation, I'm sure I'll freeze in the southern rain and be completely jealous of you up here, warm and safe."

The beginnings of a smile showed as Oriana's lips twitched despite her usually perfect composure. She glanced over at Fergus, looking him and up and down while trying and failing not to be amused.

"I am positively _thrilled_ that you will be so miserable, husband," she drawled, possibly in the most sarcastic tone I'd ever heard from her.

Fergus looked back at her, his expression fixed into one of mock-hurt.

"Ugh, you're awful," he said with an exaggerated groan, throwing his hands up into the air. "You're all so awful you're making me long for the company of darkspawn."

I laughed. "Let me know how that works out for you."

He pulled a face at me, before growing thoughtful. "I _did_ promise Oren I'd bring him back a hurlock's head…"

Oriana slapped his shoulder, aghast at the very suggestion. "Fergus Cousland, you will do _no such thing,"_ she snarled viciously, apparently unaware that her son was still within earshot.

"Please, love? Give the boy _something_ to look forward to."

She just stood there, lip curled, arms folded, utterly resolute and silently glaring Fergus down until he wilted under her gaze.

I laughed. "Ah, the perils of married life. What must that be like?"

"You'll find out for yourself soon enough if Mother and Father have anything to say about it." Fergus pointed out slyly.

I tried not to wince. "And then I'll have my own children to corrupt, I suppose?"

"Won't that be a pleasant change," Oriana remarked dryly.

Fergus let out a shout of laughter and slapped my back. "She has you there, Eugene."

I pushed him away from me. "Don't you have a darkspawn horde to fight?"

He pulled a face at me. "So eager to see me go, little brother?"

 _"Increasingly,"_ I retorted, before remembering why I came here in the first place. "That reminds me – Arl Howe's men appear to be delayed. Father has burdened me with the task of requesting you lead the troops south ahead of him."

There was a moment as Fergus just stared somewhat vacantly, trying to process this information. Then he turned away, throwing his hands up in the air like Mother does when she's particularly exasperated over something. Usually me. Let's just not even pretend it's something other than me.

"Well, of _course_ they are," he grumbled, turning on his heels so he was facing me and Oriana once again. "Honestly, you'd think they're all walking backwards."

She pulled a face at him, before gently kissing him. I coughed awkwardly and looked away. Thank the Maker Oren had already vacated the room, or he'd have made a louder fuss than me.

Rather than stay and lurk in the corner, watching them, I quickly sidled out of the room. Odds are he'll stay for supper and I can give a proper goodbye then. I'd rather not impede on time he'd rather spend with his wife. Not if there's a choice in the matter.

The instant thought of dinner crossed my mind, I was suddenly reminded of the fact that I still haven't eaten today.

Oren was on his feet the instant I emerged from Fergus' room, glancing from me to the door expectantly. I gave him a small, weak smile.

"You'd better say goodbye to him before he goes," I said softly.

Oren nodded fervently, before glancing up at me. "Are you going too, Uncle?"

I inhaled and tried to calm myself as much as possible before shaking my head. "No. I'm staying here, same as you."

Because I have to. Because despite me being better, even though I'm trained, despite everything, Father doesn't trust me to successfully navigate a life-or-death scenario. Because to him, to just about every single person in the entire damn castle, I may as well be the same age as my nephew.

"Oh," he said quietly, before almost immediately perking up. "Does that mean you'll be able to teach me swords?"

"Oren, I-" I began, before almost immediately cutting myself off, thinking better of it. "You know what? Yeah. I'll teach you."

His eyes lit up. _"Really?"_

"Absolutely. We'll start tomorrow. It'll be our little secret."

Because you know what? I don't care what anyone else thinks. If he wants to learn, if he's prepared, then I'll teach him. There's no reason to keep that from him. He certainly doesn't have any of the excuses that held _me_ back at his age. Besides, he's going to have to start sooner or later.

Oren beamed at me, and I smiled back, nodding back at the door. "You'd better say goodbye to your father first."

As he went to do just that, I headed back out, half cursing myself, half too focused on finding some kind of food before I starved to death to care. Supper had to be soon, if it wasn't happening already. I could probably just go straight to the great hall, and enjoy one final nice family meal before waving my brother off.

I groaned quietly to myself. That's quite possibly the actual _last_ thing I want to do right now.

I could just slink off to the kitchens, grab whatever's left, then scurry off to some dark corner of the world and sulk while watching the sun go down, because that's what I'm good at. That, and I don't want to be anywhere near the Grey Warden, Arl Howe, or my father right now. Me in a bad mood and there being guests in the castle always ends in some catastrophe that's usually my doing.

Amazing, really, how quickly you become familiar with a building when you barely leave it for _eighteen years._ Even more amazing is all the ways you can put that knowledge to good use when you finally have the energy to walk around, on your own, for more than a couple of hours.

By then, I'd already passed the great hall, and was making my way to the kitchens without even thinking. I kept moving, quickly deciding that if it was at all possible to avoid awkward family meal times, I would. I had no desire to sit in a room where the main topics of discussion would likely be my health, my marital status, my health, darkspawn, politics, my health, and my marital status.

I'm not going to even bother pretending it's at all avoidable.

Maybe I'll track down Gilmore and Kiba, and we can all sit up on the battlements and watch the soldiers march off into the sunset. Because if I'm not going with them, neither is Gilmore.

I'm sure he'll be just as thrilled with that development as I am.

Unless he knew already about it.

Which he probably did.

Seems I'm the last to find out about anything.

Why am I surprised? I'm not surprised. Isn't that the way it's always been? Shouldn't I be used to it by now? The least of the Couslands gets the least news? Isn't that how it works? Isn't that the way it's always worked? I shook my head slightly, not wanting to think about it. There's no point. I know I'm not going to manage to change anyone's mind, so there's no point in dwelling on it. What matters, here, now, is getting to the kitchens before I end up starving to death.

That was the dominating thought as I pushed open the doors to the kitchens once more.

Needless to say, Nan wasn't pleased to see me again.

"Eugene Cousland, if you're back here because of that blighted dog…" she hissed the instant she noticed my presence, whirling around to face me, this time wielding a frying pan that I'm sure she intended to clobber me with. Automatically, I flinched away from her, somewhat scared for my life. I raised my hands defensively in some vague attempt to display how I wasn't a threat.

"No dog. See? Completely dog free. Can you put the pan down now?"

Her lip curled in utter disgust, and she slammed the pan back down on the stove and returned to frantically cooking, grumbling about she didn't have the time or patience for this. Given how much she grouses about it, it's a wonder she has the time or patience for literally anything.

And then, finally;

"If you're not here to smuggle food to your accursed hound, why _are_ you here?"

I smiled slyly. "Would you believe me if I said I came to see you?"

She let out a harsh shout of derisive laughter. "Not for a minute."

I don't know why I expected that to work. She's never bought into anything I've said – as to be expected, she's had to deal with me the most, out of everyone in the castle. If she didn't know when I was trying to smarm my way into getting something by now, I'd be seriously worried.

There was a pause as I waited, carefully watching her, trying to make sure she was too focused on cooking to notice me. Then, slowly, carefully, I made my way around the kitchen, looking for anything I could smuggle out without her noticing.

And then, right on cue, there was a blast of pain as I felt Nan's hand smack me upside the head.

"Ow! _Nan!"_ I gasped, pulling away from her, rubbing the back of my head, where she'd hit me. "What was _that_ for?"

"Thought I told you to _wait?"_ she demanded, arms folded and looking distinctly unimpressed. "You can't just take whatever you like, whenever you like."

I sighed, defeated. "I would just like to maybe eat alone this evening. Is that _so much_ to ask?"

At my words, Nan turned back around to face me, eyes narrowed. There was a brief pause as she watched me carefully, trying to work out my angle. I watched her right back, adamant that I shouldn't have to explain myself to her.

After what seemed like an eternity, Nan finally relented.

"Nobody raised you to run off and sulk every time you don't get your way," she told me harshly, even though she did nothing to stop me from grabbing a plate quickly piling on whatever was within reach.

"Noted and ignored, Nan," I remarked without looking back at her.

She let out an incomprehensible grumble and threw her hands up into the air in defeat, clearly having lost any and all remaining patience with me. I didn't think too much of it – it's easier to take as much as I want if she's not watching over my shoulder.

"Thank you," I called to her softly as I carefully balanced my plate on my arm and pushed the door open with the other.

She snorted. "I'd better not catch you trying to sneak in here in the dead of night."

"I love you too, Nan."

She didn't respond as I backed through the door, trying to ignore the biting cold wind that assaulted me the second I found myself back outside. Anxiously, I looked up, searching for the inevitable sign of an approaching storm. There were some clouds in the sky, not a huge amount. If the weather is going to turn for the worse, it's probably still over the horizon.

Fergus is going to have the best time of his life marching south, no doubt, I thought as I bit down on a bread roll I'd managed to pilfer. No doubt I'll be treated to countless stories of blindly stabbing at darkspawn while staggering around in thick mud and trying to see through the pouring rain when he gets back. He'll work really hard at making it sound as heroic as possible and Oren will sit there with wide eyes and ask for details on everything while I lurk in a dark corner and seethe.

It all sounds horrible and _dammit,_ I _wish_ I was headed south with him.

Rather than think about it too much, I instead elected to eat as much as possible, as quickly as possible. Perks of skipping out on eating with everyone else – I don't have to worry about table manners. After all, who's going to complain? The only one here is me. That was sort of the point of being out here at all.

 _"There_ you are."

I jumped violently in surprise at the sound of Fergus' voice, whirling around to face him while also slamming a hand down on the pile of food on my plate to stop it from all tumbling to the ground. Fergus just stood there, leaning on the wall, grinning like an idiot.

"I noticed you were decidedly absent from supper," he told me cheerfully. "Figures you're skulking around out here."

My lip curled and I turned away. "Sun's getting low, Fergus. Better head out before it gets dark."

"That's the plan," he replied smoothly. "But then my baby brother decided to throw a hissy fit and not even take the time to say goodbye properly."

I rolled my eyes dramatically. "Fine, _fine._ Goodbye Fergus. Have fun in the south. In the rain. And the mud. With the darkspawn."

He laughed. "There. See? Look how easy that was."

I elected to ignore that.

"Is there a reason you're here?" I asked, distinctly unimpressed with any of this. "Other than being a right pain in the ass, I mean?"

"Come on Eugene – we both know I'll be gone for some time. Maybe I didn't want to miss out on saying goodbye because you're angry at Father."

I sighed and looked away. "Let me guess. You knew as well."

 _"Eugene-"_

"Was _everyone_ in the entire _castle_ aware of this except for me?" I demanded sourly. "Why am I always the last person to find out? Shouldn't I have been the _first_ person he told? If he made this decision such a long time ago, why did he keep it from me for so long?"

"Because he knew you'd react like this." Fergus told me seriously. "Because you _always_ react like this, even though you know _exactly_ why everyone worries about you."

"For the _love_ of everything – _I am not twelve anymore,"_ I snarled. "Look at me. I got better."

His eyebrows rose a little. "You didn't get better on your own and you _know_ it."

I groaned and turned away. "Fergus, it's been six years. Not once has Father appealed to the Circle for further help in that time. And I've inexplicably _failed_ to drop dead. I think we're at the point where we can _stop_ worrying about it."

"And you know, Oriana's right. Father doesn't want us both in danger."

"You all seem _so sure_ something's going to happen."

"We have to accept the possibility that something _might_ happen, Eugene. That's what the whole 'heir and spare' thing is about."

My lip curled. "Maybe I'm sick of being your contingency plan."

He barely reacted to that. "Maybe, Eugene, you don't have a choice."

I didn't have anything to say to that. Fergus watched me curiously, eyebrows raised a little, waiting for me to reply, only to grow confused by my silence. Eventually, he realised that I had nothing to say, and shook his head a little.

"Just… look after yourself," he said quietly. "Please. I don't want to come home to find you've gone off and gotten yourself killed for no reason."

I sighed. "Fine. I will endeavour to lead the excruciatingly dull and contrite existence you all wish of me. Anything else?"

"Well I was hoping for a heartfelt farewell, but you don't seem to be in the mood."

"Isn't that what you have your wife for?" I asked somewhat scathingly, before letting out an enormous sigh and softening. "I'll miss you."

"You did say that."

I screwed up my face and quickly bit into a leg of meat, choosing not to dignify that with an answer. Anything else is just asking for Fergus to tease.

Rather than smirk of say something witty, Fergus just gave me a small smile and gently clasped my shoulder.

"For what it's worth Eugene," he began in a dead serious tone, "I'll miss you too."

There was a brief pause before he pulled me in for a tight hug. I gave a small, startled gasp for air, caught thoroughly off-guard by this, even though I shouldn't have been. Gingerly, I wrapped my arms around him as well, trying to remind myself that it was a heartfelt family moment and not at all the entirely awkward goodbye it felt like.

Finally, after what felt like and probably could've been an eternity, he pulled away, nodded at me, before turning heel and making his way towards the main gates of the castle, where the main bulk of our family's forces were likely waiting for him.

"Ten sovereigns says you can't kill a hundred," I called after his retreating back.

He turned around to face me, walking backwards towards the main gate. "Oh, are we making this a real bet now? You'll just end up paying the money right back."

"That's what makes it fun," I yelled back at him. _"Ten sovereigns,_ Fergus! Don't think I'll forget."

He grinned and gave me a small mock-salute before turning back around to face where he was going and swiftly disappearing around a corner.

It's a pointless bet. Even if I win, I'll have to give the money back anyway – unless I manage to stowaway with the army somehow before Father notices and somehow manage to kill more darkspawn than Fergus. Which isn't going to happen. But hey, I can dream, right? Maybe the darkspawn will start surfacing in the north, too.

Father would be aghast at the thought.

Great. Now part of me sort of wants it to happen.

Because it's totally worth enduring a darkspawn incursion for twenty sovereigns. Maker. The things I'm willing to go through for a relatively paltry amount of coin – I must be the biggest cheapskate in Highever. Perhaps even all of Ferelden.

I scoffed down what remained of my food, before glancing over the castle's battlements, wondering if I could still catch the sunset if I scaled the walls. Wondering if it was even worth it.

Before I could even put any real thought into it, I found myself moving forwards, towards the stairs that led up to the battlements. I didn't stop. After all, what else was I going to do? Go to my room and sulk? Why would I do that when I can sit up on the battlements and feel sorry for myself while watching the sun go down?

There was distinct lack of guards, even up here, I noticed. Father hadn't been lying – it seemed like everyone except a small contingent of soldiers had left for Ostagar. Part of me has to wonder if there'll be anyone _left_ in Highever to govern while they're away.

Slowly, I managed to hoist myself atop the nearest merlon, sitting comfortably on the thick stone and staring out at the horizon as the main bulk of the army turned south. They'd end up marching through the night, most likely, to get to Ostagar as soon as possible. Nothing about it promised to be a nice journey – made all the worse that what was waiting for them when they got there was apparently a growing horde of darkspawn. I never thought I'd ever get to a point in my life where I'd be angry about being kept from fighting darkspawn.

And yet, here we are.

 _No,_ I told myself firmly. I'm angry because this means that my father _still_ doesn't trust me. The darkspawn have nothing to do with it. I'm angry because I can't help but be painfully aware of the fact that there are soldiers in that army who won't be coming back. And there's no real reason for why my brother wouldn't end up being one of them.

A shiver went up my spine at the thought, and I shook my head fervently. Fergus is better than that. I know he is. When all the fighting's over, he'll come right back and he'll laugh at me for being so ridiculous.

I glanced down, running my hands along the stonework I was sitting on as a wealth of old memories of the first time I came up here flooded into my mind. I'd just started to recover and Fergus had dragged me all around the castle, citing how it was a crime against the Maker Himself that I'd managed to get all the way to twelve years old without ever exploring the castle properly. We were eating on the roof by the time Mother found us – and proceeded to send me straight back to my room to rest while also scolding Fergus, a then twenty-two-year-old man, for something like three solid days over being so reckless with me, so soon after what's since proven to be the worst bout of illness I've ever had.

I understood the over-protectiveness then. When you're less than a week fresh from coming so close to death your parents had to appeal to the Circle in some desperate and final effort to save you, it's a lot easier to understand why they'd be that way. Not so much when it's been six years since and you've more than proven that you're _not_ the delicate little thing they're still convinced you are.

I always did wonder what became of the mages who saved me all that time ago. More than likely they went back to Kinloch Hold. I wonder if I could find out who they are. I wonder if I'll ever get the chance to thank them for what they did for me.

It's unlikely. Whoever they were, they probably won't remember me. They might not even be alive anymore. At this point, it's impossible to know.

Before long, the army had disappeared into the distance, and the last of the sun dipped below the horizon. Soon, it would get dark, and there wouldn't be any point in me hanging around until then. With a small sigh, I slipped back down off my perch, rolling my shoulders back and stretching as I descended from the battlements once more.

Suddenly, a string of barks sounded out, and I looked up just in time to see my mabari skid around a corner before charging over to greet me.

"Kiba?" I called the dog's name uncertainly, not quite sure how to react as he bounded around me happily, tongue lolling out his mouth without a care in the world. "Managed to give Gilmore the slip, did you?"

He just barked at that – I took that as an affirmative.

Right on cue, Gilmore himself bolted out from around a corner, looking mildly panicked until his eyes fell on me, and the dog that sat contentedly at my feet. My eyebrows rose a little as he looked from me to the mabari and back again several times, obviously trying to think of something, _anything,_ to say.

"Ah… he found you," he noted after what felt like an eternity. "What did your father want?"

I rolled my eyes and turned away. "Somehow, I can't shake myself of the feeling that you already know."

A pause.

A very deliberate pause that only confirmed everything I already suspected.

"Oh for- _really?_ You too?" I asked exasperatedly, before turning heel and heading back towards the domestic wing of the main castle complex.

Gilmore just looked away, even as he fell into step next to me. "I was told I was remaining as part of a token force to keep the peace in your father's absence. Given everything, I assumed…"

"That I'd be staying too," I finished for him.

Of course.

Of _bloody_ course.

Is there a _single person_ in all _Highever_ who didn't find this out before I did?

His eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me you're _upset._ You actually _want_ to fight darkspawn?"

"I don't want to fight _darkspawn,"_ I snapped back at him, maybe a little too harshly, before quickly lightening. "Besides, I couldn't bear to interfere with your destiny. It wouldn't be my place."

Gilmore blinked several times in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"You're up for consideration for the Grey Wardens," I told him dully.

This was apparently news to Gilmore.

"I- _what?"_

"You didn't know?"

"I was a little busy with your hound," he reminded me dryly, before stopping to think about it. "I didn't even realise there was a Warden here."

"Have you seen a Rivaini-looking man in heavy armour around?"

"That's him?"

"That's him," I confirmed cheerfully. "Apparently, he saw what happened in the yard."

There was a brief silence as Gilmore considered this news.

"…oh," he managed finally.

I smiled sweetly at him. "It's okay. I forgive you for your appalling conduct."

"Cousland, if you even try to pin the blame for that on me, I'm going to punch you in the throat."

I sighed wistfully. "Dear Maker, how far we must have fallen for soldiers to feel comfortable threatening violence against their own lords. Especially since you've already gone and _split my lip."_

My finger tapped against my bottom lip, and the line of dried blood left from the wound. Gilmore just pulled a face at me and kept walking – his way of telling me to shut up because we both know I deserved it. I sighed and rolled my eyes dramatically, but remained silent. There was no point in pushing it.

So instead, I elected to change the subject.

"So," I began, somewhat awkwardly.

He glanced back at me. "So?"

"Would you do it?" I asked. "Join the Wardens?"

"Would I really have a choice?" he asked, trying a little too hard to keep his tone light. "They can conscript whoever they want, given cause."

"You think they have cause?"

"If what's happening in the Korcari Wilds turns out to be the precursor to a Blight, then, _yes,"_ he answered, before throwing his hands in the air. "It doesn't matter anyway. Whatever happens will happen."

"I'd have thought you'd leap at the chance to get out of Highever."

He smiled crookedly. "I think you've got me confused with _you,_ Cousland."

"Don't tell me you _like_ being left behind."

"I don't have to like it. I go where you do."

I let out a shout of bitter laughter. "And what an exciting, adventurous life _that_ turned out to be."

"Maybe we should _both_ join, then."

I snorted derisively. "Maker, _no._ Can you imagine? I'm too light-hearted and you'd never pull off the uniform. The darkspawn would just point and laugh."

"Glad to see you're taking this about as seriously as anything else."

I groaned and threw my hands up into the air. "Even if I _wanted to,_ Gilmore, I can't. My father would never allow it. Hence me being stuck here."

He shook his head. "I'd have thought you'd be happy about it – running the teyrnir in your father's stead will take up the majority of your time. I won't be able to drag you out to the yard half as much."

"Joy of joys. Less training. Just what I needed."

He laughed. "Well, it'll be better for me, at least. I'll be able to spar with someone who _doesn't_ cheat at every available opportunity."

I scowled. "What _else_ should I do? Fight fair and get knocked flat on my ass?"

"That wouldn't be a problem if you worked on your stance."

"My _stance_ isn't the problem and you _know_ it," I pointed out sourly, gesturing vaguely at my all too wiry frame.

He seemed to concede my point. He knows full well that I had a late start to martial training and I just don't have the stamina to train myself into the ground like everyone else. I just don't have the muscle needed to fight with the traditional sword and shield techniques. After I raged about it to Aldous for the millionth time, he had me study human anatomy. It seemed like such a strange, left-of-field idea back then. At least, it did until I realised that I could take someone down with minimal effort by targeting certain weak points.

I have to wonder if that was Aldous' intended outcome.

The old scholar's sly when he wants to be. It's impossible to know _what_ he initially intended. Although it is odd to think _he's_ the one who effectively taught me how to fight. It's almost as strange as the fact that it was at _Mother Mallol's_ suggestion did my parents turn to the Circle for help with me. Highever's a city of breaking stereotypes, it seems.

I pulled back into reality when Kiba decided that keeping pace with me was boring and rushed ahead, jumping and barking and running in circles before stopped for a second or two to look back and check that I was still coming. I gave him a little wave and a reassuring nod, and he immediately took that as permission to go crazy again, scrambling up the steps before planting himself in front of the door to the domestic wing of the castle, waiting for me to let him inside.

A long sigh escaped me as I pushed the door open, pausing for a moment as Kiba bolted inside.

"It's getting _dark,_ Kiba. You're supposed to be _tired,"_ I called after him exasperatedly, before turning to face Gilmore. "Why is my dog still hyperactive? Didn't you give him enough exercise?"

He rolled his eyes at me as we both followed the mabari inside and I let the door close shut behind us. "I'm not your dog-sitter, Cousland. If he's hyperactive, that's _your_ problem."

"Then _what_ exactly is the point of you?" I shot back a little scathingly.

He ignored that.

Because of course he did.

I don't know why I expect anything different.

"Ah, pup," I heard my father call as he exited a room I was passing. "You should make sure you get an early night."

I stopped dead in my tracks, before turning on my heels to face him. "It's barely getting dark, Father. I figured I would still have enough time to…"

I trailed off as he gave me that _oh so_ familiar look of bemusement mixed in with a little bit of mild disappointment. There were a couple of tense seconds as he watched me and I watched him right back, eyebrows raised, waiting for him to inevitably start picking at something about me. Gilmore, meanwhile, coughed awkwardly, clearly sensing the tension in the air.

"I- uh, I should… get back," he mumbled as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously while also trying to keep his composure before the teyrn, whom he nodded respectfully at before taking his leave. "My lord."

He's _such_ a soldier. Sometimes I forget just how much of a soldier he is, and then he does something like that to remind me. Although that's probably why people seem to think he'd do well with the Wardens. A recruit who already knows how to take orders must be really refreshing for them.

The silence extended just long enough for Gilmore to get out of earshot before my father deigned to break it.

"Listen, I know this isn't ideal-"

"But the decision has been made," I finished for him dully. "And it's too late to change it now. Yes. I know."

It's the same speech every single time. By now I've endured it so many times I could probably do with never hearing it again.

His expression turned mildly sad now. "Pup…"

Don't say it, don't say it, for the love of the Maker and holy Andraste, _don't say it…_

"…it's for your own good."

And _there_ it is.

If I hear that phrase one more time today I am going to scream. So. _Loud._

"No one ever did this with Fergus when he was my age," I pointed out scathingly.

Father didn't seem to appreciate that. "You know it's not the same."

No. No, of course it isn't. Because Fergus was a normal, healthy child with a normal, healthy childhood with the added benefit of being firstborn. He was already being given martial training by the time I was born, and my parents never had a reason to change that. He's also married and produced an heir, which I suppose helps. I think just about everyone at this point has accepted that I'll likely never do the same. At least, not willingly.

No doubt Delilah Howe feels the same.

And now I'm thinking about _marriage_ again and I really need to stop.

I groaned and rolled my shoulders back. "I honestly don't know if it's a good or bad thing that you trust me with the teyrnir over my _own life."_

He folded his arms and his eyes narrowed at my comment. "Someone has to be here to manage the teyrnir while we're away. You know that."

"And that someone can't be _Mother_ because… _why?"_

"Governing is not a _punishment,"_ he told exasperatedly. "You're more than equipped to do this."

Meaning he still sees me an academic like, oh, _everybody else in Highever_ since the day I first picked up a blade. I still catch the guards giving me an exasperated smile like you would when humouring a child when they catch me in the training yard. Everyone has this image of Eugene Cousland drowning in books because he's just too weak to do anything else.

Part of me had hoped that joining the soldiers at Ostagar would change all that.

"Is this the part where I remind you that I'm actually a full decade _younger_ than Fergus?" I asked sourly.

He sighed and placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Listen to me. I know this is hard, but you must understand. I'm doing this because I love you and I don't want to see you get hurt."

I pulled away, out of his grip and turned towards my bedroom. "Do me a favour and stop caring."

And then I stalked off to my room, although I half-expected my father to follow me. When he didn't, I pushed open the door and let Kiba inside while I heard my father give a loud, tired sigh and walk away.

I stood motionless in the doorway for a moment, staring aimlessly ahead as Kiba bounded to my bed, quickly jumping on it, circling around on the spot trying to get comfortable, before finally flopping down on the mattress, looking up at me expectantly. I've long since stopped trying to keep him off the furniture. He doesn't listen. Besides, there's something inherently comforting knowing that your bed is being guarded by a fully grown mabari war hound.

For what seemed like an entire age, I didn't move, just stared aimlessly at the bed I'd been so sure I wouldn't be returning to when I got up this morning. Funny, how life has this habit of pulling the rug out from under me. I'm starting to wonder if there's any point in maintaining the illusion of free will anymore.

Kiba whined in my general direction, getting impatient with me. I glanced up and gave the dog a weary smile before stepping further inside, carefully pushing the door until it clicked shut behind me. Kiba kept a wary eye on me as I crossed the room, eventually collapsing on the bed with a loud, exhausted groan, barely paying attention as the dog quickly cuddled up to me, nudging my arm with his nose until I allowed him to worm his way under it.

And then I was sprawled out on my bed, with a massive dog pressed against me, my arm draped casually over his shoulders.

He shouldn't be on the bed. He's way too big. My mother will have a fit, no doubt.

I suppose it's a good thing, then, that she'll likely to be too distracted worrying about Father and Fergus to give much thought to me.

I let out a short shout of laughter at the thought. Yeah. Because when has _that_ ever been true?

Slowly, I sat up again, and started fumbling with the laces on my boots as Kiba yawned and let out a mildly irritated huff. I smiled slightly and rubbed his hindquarters reassuringly. He twisted his neck around to look up at me a little sadly for daring to disturb the nice moment we were having. I immediately pulled a face at him.

"Kiba, buddy, darling, I love you, but I'm not sleeping with my shoes on," I told him gently.

He sighed and rest his head back on his paws, looking detected.

"Oh, don't give me _that."_

Why is my dog so impossibly needy? I can't even remember a time when he didn't get upset at me for ignoring him for too long. Ever since he was given to me, his favourite thing to do has been following me absolutely everywhere I go – and when he's not with me, he scours the entire castle looking for me. I have to wonder if that's unique to him, or a general characteristic of the entire species.

Finally, after some concentrated effort, I kicked my boots off, pulled off my shirt, and blew out the lamp before falling back on the bed. Kiba gave an unimpressed snort as I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him a little closer to me.

"Don't pretend you don't love me, you utter bastard," I sighed as I scratched behind his ears.

Kiba didn't seem to give a damn about my emotional welfare at that point, and there was nothing I could do – nothing I _wanted_ to do, at least – that would win him over. Recognising defeat, I pulled away from him and rolled over. Sleep was quickly looking like the only option I had.

I closed my eyes and groaned loudly. It's just one more incredibly thrilling and action-packed day in the life of Eugene Cousland, the eighteen-year-old contingency plan. I have to wonder if the non-stop excitement that is my existence will ever end.

I don't know how long I lay there.

I don't know how long it took for sleep to finally take me.

I don't know how long I slept for.

After what seemed like both an eternity and no time at all, there was a shift on the bed as Kiba stirred next to me. I groaned incoherently and pressed my face into the pillow, waiting for him to inevitably settle down again. Instead, there was rustling as he quietly got down off the bed.

I mumbled something vague and incomprehensible at my dog about not being good enough for him. He didn't respond. Exhaustion gnawed at the edges of my mind, and I didn't fight it.

A loud, harsh growl suddenly sounded out, reverberating around my bedroom and causing my eyes to snap open. Without moving from where I was, sprawled out on my bed, I glanced towards Kiba, who was standing a foot or so away from the door, his hackles raised and poised to attack. I blinked several times, before pushing myself up, squinting through the dark.

"Kiba?" I called groggily, not quite sure what was going on.

He paid me no mind whatsoever, too focused on growling loudly at the door. This doesn't happen. He never gets this agitated – he's never had a reason to.

"Kiba," I tried again. "Buddy, what's wrong?"

Once again, he didn't respond to my calls. He was crouched slightly, leaning forwards, ears pricked up and staring unwaveringly at the door, his lip pulled back into a vicious snarl. My eyes narrowed and I moved to the edge of the bed, trying to understand what had gotten him like this.

I could hear footsteps, I realised. I couldn't tell if that meant anything. It could've been some of the servants, for all I knew.

At this time of night?

Kiba growled again, louder and somehow even more threateningly than before. My eyes narrowed, but I didn't move. Didn't dare light a lamp. I didn't know what would happen if I tried to investigate. I trust my dog. If something has him this riled up, there's more sense in being cautious.

"Ki-"

I cut off as a scream erupted from the other side of the door. In an instant, I was up, and heading for the door as Kiba continued to growl and bark aggressively at whatever lay beyond it.

Before I could even touch the wood, the door burst open, revealing one of the servants, pale, sweating and terrified.

"My lord! Help me! The castle is under att-" he cut off with a gargle as the tip of an arrowhead protruded from his neck. I let out a horrified scream and moved backwards, away from the doorway as the servant collapsed in a growing pool of his own blood, his fingertips grazing his ruined throat.

And while I staggered back uselessly from shock and fear, Kiba wasted no time, leaping over the servant's corpse with his teeth bared, growling and barking as he disappeared from view.

I kept moving until my back hit the wall, trying to focus on something, _anything_ that wasn't the desperate screams of what I knew was a man trying to fight off my dog as mail was bitten through, clothes were torn, and flesh was ripped apart. I can't see it. But I know what's happening. Somehow, that's worse. I turned away, shivering and struggling to keep up with anything that had just happened when there was a vicious snarl and a scream and then-

 _Snap._

And I was left with dead silence.

What…?

What just-?

Before I could get a grasp on anything, a hand shot out of seemingly nowhere, grabbing a fistful of my hair and before I could lash out in return or even think, slammed my head against the wall.

Pain erupted from what felt like everywhere as I slumped, the world around me going dark for a moment as I blinked several times and tried desperately to regain some semblance of coherence. I staggered as my head spun sickeningly, grabbing blindly at the wall with one hand while the other lashed out at nothing but empty space, searching for my attacker.

There was a fierce growl, quickly followed by sharp scream of pain from somewhere beside me. I collapsed to my knees and twisted around in some desperate attempt to actually see what was going on as the thudding pain in my head finally began to clear. Blearily, I looked up to find Kiba with his teeth planted in the man's leg, dragging him away from me as he screamed, lashing out at the mabari with his good leg, before finally managing to kick the mabari in the face.

Kiba yelped in surprise and pain from the blow and released the man, who immediately began scrambling for the knife that lay discarded on the floor.

I lunged for the knife as he inched closer towards it, my hand closing around the hilt and bringing it to me as he reached out, grabbing at me in a frantic attempt to wrest the knife from my hands. Without thinking, I pulled him closer, and headbutted him, releasing him as he reeled back from the shock of the blow, clutching his bloodied nose. His preoccupation with the injury gave me enough of a window to quickly strike at his ribs. He grabbed my arm and was able to swing me back around until I was once again slammed into the wall, the knife slipping out of grip.

Then, suddenly, he howled in pain as Kiba leapt back into the scuffle, this time his jaws firmly clamping down on his arm, before pulling him back down to the floor, away from me as I staggered back to my feet.

 _Good dog._

Good, amazing, bloody brilliant dog.

I slammed my foot down onto his collarbone – he was too busy trying to fend off the mabari to even try to defend himself. There was a sickening _crunch_ as I felt the bone snap beneath my weight, and his arm instantly dropped limp. It was enough. Kiba's weight kept him on the ground as I gripped the knife once again and brought it down, driving the blade into his chest as far as it would go.

Once.

Twice.

Twenty times.

He quickly grew still beneath me and soon, all I was doing was putting new holes in a corpse already full of stab wounds. For so long, it didn't even register. Nothing seemed to register. It all became automatic, unthinking. Maybe that was a good thing.

It wasn't until I pulled back enough to see that his entire torso had become nothing more than a bloody pulp did I realise what I was doing. What I'd just done. For so long, I stared aimlessly at the man's ruined form, my heart thumping in my chest as I sucked in air desperately, trying to calm myself to no avail. The knife slipped from my slackened grip and clattered to the floor, and I didn't care. Kiba whined and nudged me gently, and I didn't care. I stared down at my hands that were stained in his blood and for so long, I didn't care.

I just killed a man.

That realisation was like being hit in the chest with a battering ram. I'd never killed anyone before. I was never supposed to. Me learning how to fight was more of a formality than anything else – it was never supposed to be training I actually put into practice. I was never supposed to find myself here, in this situation.

What am I doing here?

What just happened?

Is this _real?_

It's not real.

It _can't_ be _real._

I rolled off the still body of the man who would've been my killer, collapsing on the floor as my chest heaved and bile welled up in my throat.

I don't…

I don't know what just happened. I don't know what I just did. For so long, I just lay there, curled up on the floor, covered in blood and surrounded by corpses as Kiba whined, nudged and pawed at me.

He's covered in blood too, I noticed as I stared aimlessly into space and he began licking me incessantly. Maybe one more effort to force me to re-engage with reality. Or maybe he just likes the taste of blood. Maybe he's developed a real taste for it. I didn't know. I wasn't sure I even _wanted_ to know.

I killed him.

Oh Maker, I just _killed_ a man.

This isn't- …it _can't_ be…

"Eugene!"

I didn't move as I heard my mother call my name frantically, running across my bedroom and appearing over me, her hands clasping my shoulders, looking down at me with concern and fear all over her expression. For so long, I just stared blankly up at her, not really seeing anything.

"Eugene? Eugene, darling, speak to me," she whispered, her voice cracking a little as she fought back tears.

I blinked several times before rolling over onto my side, launching straight into a violent coughing fit. She pulled back a little, sitting back on her knees, breathing a small sigh of relief.

"Are you alright?"

"What…" I gasped between desperate breaths, "…what's going on? What's happening?"

Quickly, she drew me up in her arms and held me tightly. "I don't know. Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

I coughed once again and slowly pulled away from her, forcing myself to my feet. "I'm…"

I didn't get much further than that before losing my balance and staggering, collapsing back into my mother's arms.

"Eugene? _Eugene?"_ she called, terrified.

"Fine!" I croaked. "I'm fine."

Almost the instant the words were out of my mouth, her brow creased and her lips pressed into a thin, thoroughly unimpressed line.

"Eugene Cousland, you're as bad as your father," she grumbled, gently easing me to the floor. "Downplaying your injuries won't help anyone, least of all yourself."

"Mother," I groaned, trying and largely failing to squirm out of her grip. "I'm fine. Really. Stop fussing."

"The day I actually believe that, I will," she told me flatly as she cast a glance at the wrecked corpse that remained where I'd left it, blood still pooling onto the floor around it.

A shiver went up my spine and I looked away.

Don't think about it.

Don't think about what I just did.

"Are you _sure_ you're alright?" she asked softly, reaching out and clasping my hand in some attempt to reassure me.

Slowly, unwillingly, I forced myself to meet her eyes, before my gaze automatically slid back to the corpse I'd left behind. Bile immediately began to well up in my throat again and I forced it back down, though not before my whole body started shaking. Then I let out an entirely pathetic whimper and practically fell against her, tears sliding down my cheeks.

"Oh, darling," she murmured, wrapping her arms around me and drawing me close. "Sweetheart… it's alright. You're okay."

That's a lie, and we both know it.

It's not okay.

I'm not okay.

I'm not sure I'll ever be okay again.

This isn't real. This isn't happening. It _can't_ be.

Slowly, I pulled away from my mother and staggered to my feet, stumbling blindly towards the door, clutching at the wooden frame for support so I wouldn't trip over the servant's corpse. I was greeted with three or four – some were in pieces, it was difficult to tell exactly – more corpses strewn across the hall. I looked back at my dog, horrified.

"Did Kiba kill _all_ these people?" I asked hoarsely.

Kiba, of course, didn't respond, just sat there and stared at me blankly while my mother got up as well and brushed some imaginary dust off her clothes- _armour._ My eyes widened a little as I realised the truth of it. There was no way my dog would've lasted on his own again multiple targets.

Mother approached the dresser and quickly pulled out a shirt, tossing it towards me, her expression suddenly devoid of most, if not all, emotion.

"Get dressed," she told me flatly. "And grab whatever weapons you can. There may be more of these bastards."

My eyes widened as I fumbled with the shirt, slipping it over my head before turning around and searching for where I'd discarded my boots earlier. Before this happened. Before any of this insanity actually went down and tonight was a normal night like any other.

Why is this happening?

Why is this happening _now?_

Eventually I found them and pulled them back down, but lacing them back up was another matter entirely. It was dark, and my hands shook uncontrollably, making it almost impossible. With a small sigh, Mother came over to me and took over, like she used when I was still very young. I stood absolutely still as she did in maybe five seconds what I couldn't.

And then, in what seemed like no time at all, she stood up and held out a bow to me, staring at me wordlessly and clearly expecting me to take it. I just stared right back, still scrambling to keep up with the reality of the situation.

"Mother, I-" I began, only to stutter and fall into silence.

"You stay back," she said. "Keep out of the fighting as much as you can. But if you see a good shot, you take it, understand?"

"I- I don't know if I can do this," I whispered.

She pressed the bow against my chest. "If you want to live," she told me, dead serious now, "you will have to."

And with that, she turned around and headed out into the hall, clearly expecting me to follow. For a moment, I remained stock still, trying to focus on breathing. Trying not to look at the blood that pooled on the floor and was splattered across the walls.

When I finally did stumble out of my room, Mother was already leaning over the men who lay dead on the floor, eyes trailing over their armour, trying to find something, though I couldn't say what. Quickly, I turned around and grabbed a torch, trying to see if that would help. Not wishing to disturb my mother, I started towards to the corpse furthest from where she was, only to almost trip on a shield that had been discarded on the floor.

 _"Shit!"_ I gasped as I fought to keep standing.

"Eugene?" Mother called my name worriedly, though she didn't turn.

"I'm fine! I'm fine," I replied, looking down at what I'd nearly tripped on.

It took me a couple of seconds to realise that I did, in fact, know the heraldry sprawled across it.

Dread gnawed at my gut.

"That… that's the bear of Amaranthine," I murmured. "Arl Howe's men?"

Mother looked as though she was about to break something. Her knuckles whitened as he grip on her sword tightened all the more.

 _"Howe,"_ she hissed furiously, more aggression in her voice than I'd ever heard before. Slowly, she twisted around to look at me. "You don't think his men were delayed… _on purpose?"_

Her question was met with a dead silence that seemed to last an eternity. My blood ran cold at the thought.

No.

No, no, that wouldn't happen. He wouldn't do that. There has to be some other explanation.

 _"Bastard,"_ Mother snarled ferociously, pushing herself back up to her feet.

"Maybe it wasn't him," I tried, though I don't know who I was trying to convince. "Maybe this is… something else. A splinter group, radicals, trying to pin this on him?"

"Maybe," Mother replied, but her tone implied that she didn't for one second believe it.

No.

No, no, _no…_

"Arl Howe wouldn't do this!" I had to stop myself from screaming. "He's Father's oldest friend! It doesn't make any _sense!_ Why attack his closest allies?"

"I will never understand what goes on in that man's head if I live a thousand years," Mother murmured, her voice low and icy. "We have to find the others. Check on Oriana and Oren, would you? Hopefully they're not hurt."

I nodded and turned on my heels until I was facing the door to Fergus' quarters, where I paused. I don't know why. Maybe it's because, deep down, I knew exactly what I was going to find.

Slowly, with shaking hands, I pushed the door just enough to creak open. A dim shaft of light cut across the floor, reflecting off a small pool of blood.

For ages, I just stood there, stock still, dead silent, unable to say or do anything. I stared vacantly at the scene in front of me, too numb with shock to really register what I was seeing.

But they- …this is…

This isn't happening. _This can't be happening._

Is this real?

This can't be _real._

Mother let out a scream of horror before pushing past me, scooping Oren's limp form into her arms. Desperately, she placed her hands over his neck as if to stop the bleeding – before realising that he was well and truly gone. She held him tightly to his chest, slowly rocking back and forth, tears streaming down her face as she wailed.

I'd never seen her so upset.

I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe this is actually happening. We were talking just this evening. Just a few hours ago, his eyes had lit up when I agreed to teach him something about swordplay. He'd been fine, full of life, like any normal child his age this morning – he'd been leaning on the training yard fence, giggling hysterically as Gilmore and I scrapped on the ground.

And now he's gone.

Just like that.

He was a boy.

He was just a _boy._

"W-where's Oriana?" I managed hoarsely, before my eyes came to rest on a dark, bloodied mass taking up the corner the light didn't touch.

No.

Maker, _no._

This isn't happening.

Tell me this isn't happening.

Slowly, I staggered back, out of the room as the blood drained from my face. My knees weakened until they buckled beneath me, leaving me to fall uselessly to the floor. I couldn't bring myself to stand anymore. My breath hitched in my throat and soon I was coughing and heaving as I desperately clawed for air and never felt like I was getting enough.

"Shit. Oh fuck. _Shit,"_ I gasped, unable to bring myself to say anything else.

It's a dream.

Maker, tell me it's a dream.

I can't breathe.

"Oh Oren…" Mother gasped through her tears as she rocked, still clutching the boy to her chest. "My little _Oren…_ what manner of fiend slaughters _innocents?"_

"It's a dream," I murmured hoarsely, pulling my knees to my chest. "it's a dream, it's a dream, it's a horrible nightmare, it's a _dream…"_

It's a dream.

Please, Maker, Andraste, _anyone,_ just let it be a dream. Don't do this to me. Don't let this happen to my family. Don't let this happen to my _brother._

He was a _six-year-old boy._

My breath hitched in my throat and I began to shake so badly I had to struggle to back up on my feet. Tears streaked down my face, unbidden. I didn't fight them. Didn't see any reason to. I just killed a man and they're dead and I don't know what's happening but they're _dead_ and Fergus is gone, he's heading south, he doesn't _know-_

Someone has to tell him.

"M-Mother," I stammered after what felt like far too long. "We should… we have to…"

Slowly, she nodded and withdrew from Oren, moving backwards with her hand over her mouth, never taking her eyes off the carnage until she reached the door.

"You're right," she murmured as she reached me. "We should find your father."

My eyes narrowed a little as she gently pulled Fergus' bedroom door shut behind her. "He wasn't with you?"

She shook her head. "He was staying up with Re- … _Howe,_ until Amaranthine's soldiers arrived," she told me quietly, before her lips twisted into a bitter smile and she let out a shout of sharp, cynical laughter. "And _arrive_ they did."

"Mother-"

"He may still be in the Great Hall," she cut across me smoothly, pushing the door to the domestic wing open and beckoning me outside.

"But what about…" I began, casting my gaze back at Fergus' room.

She shook her head. "We don't have time, Eugene. We can only pray Andraste guides them to their final rest."

 _That_ was a line straight from Mallol, but I didn't bother to point that out.

 _Mallol,_ I realised with horror. Are they attacking everyone, or just the Cousland family? What if they're all through the castle already? How do I know if anyone's still alive? What about Nan, and Aldous, and Gilmore? Are any of them still alive? Did any of them get out in time?

I felt sick just thinking about it.

Carefully, the two of us stole out into the rest of the castle complex, Mother taking the time every minute or so to remind me that, should we get attacked again, to keep back, stay in the shadows, and attack from range while she kept everyone's attention on her. I didn't bother to point out that she likely has far too much faith in my abilities as an archer if she thinks there's no chance I'll accidentally hit her instead of the enemy. It was all I could do to pray that it didn't come to that.

I could hear it now – the clashing of steel against steel, shouts and screams all throughout the castle. Parts of the walls had come down in places, I could see small glimpses of corpses amongst the rubble as we passed. Bile welled up in my throat and I forced it back down. _Don't think about it._

Mother didn't so much as flinch. Her eyes were bloodshot and her breathing quickly grew ragged from the effort of trying to keep her composure, but she was having a far easier time than me when it came to remaining as calm and collected as possible.

I don't know how she does it.

I don't know how she deals with any of this.

I have no idea what's going on and suddenly I'm clinging to my mother like a small, scared child.

There was a harsh shout and the sound of footsteps approaching us from behind. Immediately, without thinking, I whirled around, nocked an arrow, pulled back and fired. No time to aim. No time to actually look at who I was shooting at. At this point, I wasn't sure it mattered anymore.

The figure staggered and collapsed on the ground as Mother pushed past me and charged, sword raised and looking wild.

She has too much faith in me, I thought vaguely as I loosed another arrow at a man who was charging at her. It sailed less than inch from his face, distracting him enough that Mother could cut him down with a ruthless efficiency.

"Come on," she gasped through desperate breaths as she ripped her blade free from the fresh corpse and turned back towards the Great Hall.

I nodded mutely and jogged to catch up with her, focusing entirely on where I was going. If I considered anything else for even a moment, it'd all become too real and I'd completely break into pieces. I knew that. That much, at least was obvious.

Can't think about it. Can't think about what happened to Oriana, and Oren-

I inhaled sharply. _Not now._

"Mother," I gasped as she halted just outside the Great Hall. "What if he's already-?"

I cut off when she signalled for me to be quiet and listened closely at the door. "Sounds like fighting. Some of our men are still alive."

We exchanged a glance before I carefully cracked the door open.

The Great Hall was in chaos. Bodies were strewn across the floor, blood splattered across almost every surface as soldiers charged at each other. For a moment, I just stared, standing protectively in front of my mother – like it was even needed – as I watched the last couple of Amaranthine soldiers get cut down by what little remained of Highever's forces.

And in the middle of all that, was Gilmore.

"Go!" he barked at a couple of nearby guards. "Man the gate! Keep those bastards out for as long as you can!"

He ran a hand through his hair, bloodied and stressed and clearly stricken but trying to be level-headed about it. I didn't move as he turned just enough to see us standing in the doorway. Automatically, his hand flew to his sword before he managed to recognise us.

"Your Ladyship! My lord!" he gasped in surprise and relief. "You're both alive! I was certain Howe's men had gotten through."

"They _did_ get through!" I had to stop myself from outright screaming at him, gesturing furiously at my own blood soaked clothes. "They killed Oriana! _And_ Oren! If you had done your _fucking job-"_

 _"Eugene!"_ Mother shouted my name, her hand gripping my wrist tightly and pulling me back, away from Gilmore. "Eugene, _stop._ It isn't his fault."

I let out a frustrated growl and ripped myself from her grip. I didn't want to think about it. About any of it. About the fact that they'd both been gutted like animals and _left_ there, like they were nothing. Like none of it mattered. Like they were vermin as opposed to my brother's wife and son.

It's not going to change anything. They're gone. They're both gone, and there's nothing I can do about it. Who knows how many others Howe's men have slaughtered? How many more will be dead by the time the night is over?

I felt nausea bubble up in my throat at the thought of it.

Maker.

They're going to kill us.

They're going to kill _everyone._

"Are you injured?" I heard my mother ask Gilmore quietly, trying her best to remain resolute and dignified despite the horror of everything that was happening around her.

Gilmore shook his head fervently. "Don't worry about me, your Ladyship. Thank the Maker the two of you are unharmed."

My lip curled, but Mother shot me a warning look before I could say anything. Gilmore just kept talking.

"When I realised what was happening, it was all I could do to shut the gates. But they won't keep Howe's men out for long."

"For all the good it did," I snarled.

 _"Eugene,"_ Mother called my name in a warning tone.

She still expects me to be polite. To be the cultured young noble I've been raised as, regardless of the situation. She expects me to take it all in my stride, despite the fact that the castle is coming down around us and everywhere I care to look, there are people fighting and dying for no real, discernible reason. Somehow, I'm supposed to stay calm and collected through all of that. I'm not supposed to care that people have died, and that they'll keep dying for every second we spend here. I'm supposed to be her perfect little man, like always.

Like it even matters anymore.

"If you've another way out of the castle, use it quickly," Gilmore continued, ignoring the brief hostile exchange between me and my mother.

"What?" I demanded, staring at him like he was completely insane. _"No!"_

"My lord," Gilmore called, a distinct edge in his voice as he made a note of using my title as opposed to my name. "The longer you stay here, the greater chance you'll be killed. We can't risk that. You _need_ to get out of Highever."

"We need to find _Father!"_ I insisted.

Gilmore sighed a little in exasperation, but he knew better than to continue arguing with me while Howe's men assaulted the gates.

"When I last saw the teyrn, he'd been badly wounded," he admitted after what felt like an eternity.

"And you let him _leave?!"_

"I urged him not to go, but he was determined to find you!" he insisted defensively, before gesturing at the door. "He… went towards the kitchens, I believe."

I blinked several times in surprise. The kitchens? Why would Father-?

 _The servant's exit,_ I realised. Obviously. _Idiot._

"Bless you, Ser Gilmore," Mother farewelled him, tearful all over again. "Maker watch over you!"

Gilmore just nodded and drew his sword. "Maker watch over us _all."_

"Wait," I called desperately, as a wave of regret washed over me. "Wait. I'm sorry, I just-"

He just shook his head. "No time for that. We'll hold here. Maybe give you enough time to escape."

I didn't move. I couldn't. Because as much as I wish I didn't, I know what he means. I know what he intends to do.

He's going to die.

He's going to stand here and he's going to fight and he's going to _die._ All to protect my family, to keep the focus away from us long enough for us to get out.

No.

No, he _can't-_

"Roland-" I began, using his first name for maybe the second time since we met.

He smiled grimly before jerking his head in the direction of the kitchens. _"Go,_ Eugene."

 _He's going to die,_ some snide voice from a dark corner of my mind reminded me. _He's the only real friend you've ever had and he's going to die and you're just going to run away and leave him to it._

No, no, no…

 _Coward._

I felt a hand grab mine. I whirled around to see my mother silently pleading with me. Gently, she tugged me away, and again with a little more force when I didn't move. I stumbled a little as she wrenched back through the door and outside once again.

"We can't just leave them," I protested weakly as she pulled me towards the kitchens and I stumbled a little behind her.

She stopped dead in her tracks, whirling around to face me. She gripped my arms, her eyes boring into mine.

"Eugene," she called my name firmly. "Darling, listen to me. We have to find your father, and we _have_ to get out of Highever. _That's_ what matters now."

"But they-"

"Your life is more important," she cut across me sharply, before gently pulling me along once again. "Ser Gilmore understands that. It's time you did as well."

She didn't wait for me to say anything in reply, just pulled me into running once again, as my mind scrambled desperately for some kind of clarification, or understanding. I couldn't make sense of it. It didn't make _any_ sense at all, no matter how I looked at it. I'm young. I'm an idiot. I'm an _asshole._ I lie and I cheat and I never take anything seriously. My survival shouldn't be prioritised over that of others, but there it is regardless. If I was anyone else…

If I was anyone else, I would've died six years ago. Maybe even before that.

The kitchens were in an arguably worse state than the rest of the castle. What had been spotlessly clean and orderly just a few hours ago was in disarray, with just about everything that possibly could've been used as weapon strewn everywhere, bloodstains marking just about every surface.

Slowly, cautiously, I moved forwards, only to hear a small _squelch._ Anxiously, I looked down, onto to find that I'd stepped on the torn hem of Nan's blood-soaked dress.

Quickly, I moved backwards, trying not to scream as bile welled up in my throat and I had to work to force it back down.

I grabbed at the counter for support, gasping for air and never quite getting enough. I can't believe this. I can't believe this is happening. _Tell me this isn't happening._

Tell me it isn't real.

Slowly, I eased myself down, reaching out with a shaking hand and gently closing Nan's vacant and lifeless eyes while trying not to throw up.

"I'm sorry," I whispered hoarsely. "I'm so sorry."

Mother, meanwhile, all but ran around the kitchens, searching desperately for any sign of Father.

"Bryce?" she called anxiously, pushing open the larder door. _"Bryce!"_

I glanced up just in time to see her disappear into the larder. Slowly, I pulled myself back to my feet and staggered over Nan's cold and bloodied corpse, all but collapsing against the doorframe. Father was collapsed on the floor, clutching a wound in his gut as Mother kneeled over him, whispering something desperate, trying to do what she could. Blood had stained his ruined clothes to the point it was difficult to discern their original colour.

Except I knew their original colour. Because I saw him this evening. Everything had been _fine._ Just a few hours ago, it was all so normal, everyone was still alive, and no one had any reason to think anything would happen. Now… now it doesn't feel real.

I don't know I expected to see.

The blood didn't surprise me. At least, not half as much as the fact that he was still alive.

How did I get to the point where _that_ was what surprised me?

No, no, _no._ This isn't how it's supposed to end. Not here. Not like this.

"Father," I murmured weakly, pushing myself away from the doorframe, only to fall to my knees next to him.

A brief smile flashed across his face before it was interrupted by a harsh fit of coughing.

"Ah," he managed as the coughing subsided. "Pup… there you are. You're alive."

He sounds so relieved.

My eyes glanced down at the laceration he was trying desperately to hold together, so his guts wouldn't start spilling out onto the floor in a bloody mess, before flicking back up to his face. He just smiled at me, like everything was fine.

It's not fine.

It'll never be fine again.

"What happened?" Mother demanded. "Bryce, you're wounded!"

"Howe's men…" he rasped, "found me first. Almost… did me in right there."

"It doesn't make _sense!"_ I shouted furiously. "Why would he _do_ this?!"

"Envy," Mother suggested scathingly. "Power. Ambition. What else drives a man to turn on his friends?"

Father shook slightly in Mother's grasp. His jaw clenched as he tried to work through the pain.

"He can't- he can't get away with this! The king will-" he cut off with a gasp of pain and slumped. Mother immediately drew him closer to her and placed her hand atop Father's in some final and desperate attempt to halt the bleeding.

"Bryce," she called frantically, "We have to get you out of here."

A small, soft smile pulled at the corners of Father's lips as he gazed up at her, before lifting a blood-soaked hand to gently caress her jawline.

He's going to die.

I know that now.

I think he does too.

I can't accept it. I _won't._

"I- …I won't survive the standing, I think."

"No."

At the sound of my voice, both my parents looked at me – presumably so caught up in the whole moment they'd both forgotten I was here. I stood up, briefly glancing at the door before returning my gaze to my bloodied and broken father, who was already talking like he'd given up. Like it was already over.

 _"No,"_ I repeated, my tone far harsher than before. "We can barricade the kitchen door. It'll give us time. We can get you out."

Father coughed, a small trail of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "Eugene…"

I stopped dead at the quiet call of my name. He… he never just calls me Eugene. It's always _pup_ or something similar. It's always a light hearted and affectionate nickname. It's _never_ just straight Eugene. Not unless he's scolding me. Not unless he's being absolutely serious.

Maker.

Tell me this isn't happening.

Tell me this isn't _real._

"Eugene," he called again, now that I was gaping wordlessly at him from shock. "Don't. It's over."

"It's _not over!"_ I screamed. "Don't _say that!_ I'll _drag_ you out if I have to!"

He let out a bitter chuckle. "Only… only if you're willing to leave pieces of me behind."

"Bryce, this is no time for jokes!" Mother cried, clutching him all the tighter and casting a terrified look at the door. "Once Howe's men break through the gates, they'll find us! We have to go!"

Father didn't seem to be listening to her. "Someone… must reach Fergus. Tell him what's happened here."

"And say what?" I snarled. "That he's the new _teyrn?"_

The sad look of quiet acceptance on my father's face at my words was too much to bear. It was _all_ too much to bear.

"If he lives… then, yes."

I just stared vacantly at him, feeling like I'd just been punched in the gut.

He's not getting out of here alive.

Are _any_ of us getting out of here alive?

Is this it? Is this where I die? Do I just lay down and accept my fate? Is there any _point_ in trying to fight it?

 _I don't want to die,_ I found myself silently begging no one. _Maker, Andraste, please, anyone, I don't want to die._

Not here. Not now. Not like this.

It's not fair.

Tears streamed down Mother's face as she hugged my father tightly, her fingers interlocking with his.

"Bryce," she called his name breathlessly. _"Bryce,_ the servant's passage is right here. We can flee together, find you healing magic-"

"No," Father interrupted her quietly. "Eleanor, _no._ The castle is surrounded. I won't make it."

"So you're just going to _give up?!"_ I screamed, all the anger and confusion boiling to the surface. "You're not even going to _try?!"_

Slowly, he turned his gaze to me, with that horrible expression of quiet acceptance. "I would only slow you down."

"I'm afraid the teyrn is correct," a vaguely familiar voice called calmly from the door.

My head snapped up and I whirled around to see the Warden – Duncan – leaning silently against the wall, looking sadly down at us all huddled together in the corner. He was, like everyone else at this point, covered in blood, though he didn't seem to be wounded – at least, not badly.

"Howe's men have not yet discovered this exit," he continued as he strode over to us, sheathing his sword as he did so. "But they surround the castle. Getting past will be difficult."

Mother glanced up at him, clearly at a loss of what to do.

"You are… Duncan, then?" she asked slowly. "The Grey Warden?"

My eyes narrowed. Shouldn't she know that? Or was she just aware that he was in the castle, without ever actually meeting him?

Duncan nodded, serenely calm despite the insanity of this entire situation. "Yes, your Ladyship. The teyrn and I tried to reach you sooner."

Mother's eyes glanced over to me, and for the first time since everything happened, she smiled.

"My youngest son helped me get here, Maker be praised."

Now Duncan too, turned his gaze to me. "I am not surprised."

My lip curled.

"If you're all quite _finished_ fawning over me while the _castle is being sacked,"_ I snarled, looking up at Duncan. "I'm surprised you haven't already left."

He didn't even flinch at my tone. "I did not wish to leave your father alone," he replied simply.

"Then _where were you thirty seconds ago?"_

 _"Eugene!"_ Mother snapped my name once again. She's done that more tonight than she has every other day of my life combined. "We don't have time for this. They're coming!"

"We can't leave Father!" I insisted.

No one seemed to hear me. Suddenly, it was like I wasn't even there.

Father reached out, grasping at Duncan, fear and desperation in his eyes.

"Duncan…" he rasped as the Warden knelt down next to him as well. "You are under no obligation to me, but I beg you… take my wife and son to safety."

I blinked in surprise. "W-what?"

Duncan's expression didn't change as he glanced over Father's wounds himself, and quickly came to the conclusion we all had – accepting the harsh reality that he was likely beyond help.

A shiver went up my spine at the thought. He _can't_ be beyond help. That's what everyone said about me six years ago, and they still managed to keep me alive. Maybe that was only thanks to magic, but there has to be a way. We could bind his wounds, get out of Highever, make the journey to Kinloch Hold…

…which he'll never survive. Not in this state. Whatever could save him isn't going to get to him fast enough.

That's the most galling part.

He _could_ live. He _could_ have been saved, if circumstances were different. There _could_ have been a version of this where we all got out of this insanity alive. Instead, he's going to die.

No.

No, no, no.

That's not going to happen. That's not _allowed_ to happen. He can't.

Slowly, Duncan nodded at my father.

"I will, your Lordship," he agreed quietly. "But, I fear I must ask something in return."

I stared at him, wide eyed. You're kidding. You have _got_ to be kidding. My father is literally collapsed in a pool of his own blood and he's asking for _favours?_ Who _does_ that?

"You can't _possibly-"_ I snarled, only to cut off when Father reached out and gripped my arm, accompanied by a warning look.

"Please," he murmured, looking back at Duncan. "I'll do anything."

Duncan's expression, if possible, hardened. "What is happening here pales in comparison to the evil now loose in this world. I came to your castle seeking a recruit," his gaze shifted to me now, "And the darkspawn threat _demands_ that I leave with one."

I stared right back, not sure what he was really saying. Suddenly, everyone was staring at me, like I somehow had to answers to everything. I have no idea what's going on. Slowly, I glanced questioningly back at my father, silently pleading for answers.

He didn't meet my gaze. Actively avoided it, like he was too ashamed to look at me.

"I… understand," he murmured, still refusing to look me in the eye.

And then it hit me.

"Are… are you talking about _me?"_ I asked, instinctively moving further away from the Warden, who was still watching me carefully.

"You fought your way to your father through Howe's men," he reminded me, like it didn't happen just a few minutes ago. "I think the Maker's intention is clear."

I… have no idea what's going on. Are they actually serious about this? This is a real thing now? Me, join the Grey Wardens? Me, fight darkspawn forever? _Me?_ No. No, no, no.

That's not-

I never-

 _What?_

I have a life, I'm nobility, I can't just-

No. _No!_

That's not me. That's not supposed to be me. I don't want that. I don't want to do that. Not if it means this. Not if it means being a Warden. I don't- …no. I just, _no._

Duncan, completely oblivious to my panic and flat refusal to take part in this, turned his attention back to my father. "I will take the teyrna and your son to Ostagar to tell Fergus and the king what's happened. Then, your son joins the Grey Wardens."

What?

 _What?_

This isn't… my father won't… he won't allow it. He _can't_ allow this.

He let out a long, tired sigh. "So long as justice comes to Howe… I agree."

…no.

 _No._

 _No!_

"Aren't any of you going to ask _me_ about this first?!" I screamed so loudly all three of them jumped a little in surprise, my hands balling into tight fists. "I'm not-"

"Eugene," Father called my name harshly. "Howe thinks he'll use this chaos to… advance himself."

"So I'll kill him!" I argued. "That's got _nothing_ to do with the Wardens."

"Listen to me. Our family… always does our duty first. The darkspawn must be defeated. You must go, for your own sake, and for Ferelden's."

"It's my _duty_ to _kill Howe!_ Not join some Blight-obsessed _murder cult!"_

At my protests, the Warden pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed exasperatedly. "Then I have no choice. I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription and recruit you into the Grey Wardens, _despite_ your objection."

I stared.

For so long, that's all I could do.

I just stared, utterly lost for words.

That's not… he can't…

"You…" I began hoarsely, my brain still scrambling for words. "You can't do that. You can't _do_ that!"

Duncan remained completely unmoved.

"Father? Can he do that?"

Still, my father didn't look at me, even when I gripped his arm tightly, silently begging him to say something, to protest, to reveal this whole night to be nothing more than a vicious joke.

But he didn't.

He inhaled shakily, fighting tears now. "I'm sorry, pup," he murmured. "It- …it's better this way."

This isn't real.

This _can't_ be _real._

"You can't sell me out like this!" I shouted furiously, wanting nothing more than to hit something, some _one._ Wanting nothing more than to kick and scream about how impossibly unfair and ridiculous and generally insane this whole situation was.

It had all been so painfully _normal_ this morning.

 _"Father!"_ I screamed at him when he didn't reply.

He didn't say anything. Didn't even look at me. Like he couldn't bring himself to. I just sat there, my gaze shifting from him to Mother and back again several times, too shocked to move, or do anything. Beside me, Duncan stood up, gently clasping my shoulder.

"We should leave, quickly."

I shrugged out of his grip.

"I'm not going _anywhere_ with _you,"_ I snarled.

"Eugene, _please,"_ Father called softly.

He didn't say anymore than that. I don't suppose he had to. He knew I could fill in the rest well enough. Eugene, please be quiet. Eugene, please stop arguing, Eugene, please accept this as your fate. Eugene, please don't fight the inevitable.

It's _bullshit,_ is what it is.

"Bryce," Mother called uncertainly. "Are you… sure?"

For the first time since we found him, Father seemed to steel. "Our son will not die of Howe's treachery. He will _live,_ and make his mark on the world."

"Because you're not giving me a damn _choice,"_ I snarled.

Everyone ignored me. At this point I was at a loss of why I was at all surprised.

"Darling," my mother called to me, "go with Duncan. You have a better chance to escape without me."

I blinked several times in shock at her words. _"What?_ No!"

Father coughed and gazed up at his wife, looking just as aghast by this as I felt. "Eleanor-"

Mother wasn't having any of it. She shook her head rigorously, utterly refusing to move. "Hush, Bryce. I'll kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy them time. But I _won't_ abandon you."

She's not doing this. She _can't_ be doing this. Someone tell me she isn't doing this. All that effort, all that fighting to get here, and she's just going to _give up?_ She's just going to lay down and _die?_

"No. _No!_ I won't let you _sacrifice yourself!"_ I argued.

She didn't even look at me. "My place is with your father. At his side, to death and beyond."

"Mother-" I began, unable to fight the tears that were welling up in my eyes. "Don't do this. Please. _Please."_

Don't leave me.

Without a word, she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me in close, like she used to when I was still little. I went completely limp in her grasp, too shocked and disorientated to do anything, let alone _resist_ her.

It's insane.

All of it.

"We love you," she whispered in my ear. "We're both so proud of you."

No.

Maker, _no._

This can't be real.

"M-Mother…" I mumbled hoarsely, sounding more like a frightened, mewling child than ever before.

The corners of my mother's lip twitched in a small, sad attempt at a smile – like when she used to smile at me when I'd coming running into my parents' quarters at night, crying over some nightmare.

A nightmare. That's all this is. It's just some horrific nightmare and I'll wake up and everyone will be fine and they'll laugh at me for ever thinking something like this could possibly happen to our family. It's a nightmare. That's it. That's all. It's just one terrible dream I'll wake up from any moment now.

Maker, Andraste, anyone, _please,_ let that be true. Don't let this happen to my family.

"Goodbye, darling," she whispered, her voice shaking as she struggled to hold back tears.

No, no, _no…_

"Come with me," I found myself begging her. "Mother, _please._ Please just come with me."

She shook her head sadly. "Your father needs me."

 _"I_ need you!" I had to stop myself from outright screaming, before my voice descended into barely more than a hoarse whisper. _"Please._ I need you."

Rather than reply, she just pulled me close and gently kissed my forehead.

And suddenly, I was twelve years old again.

I shivered at the memory as Mother withdrew and Duncan swooped in to wrench me to my feet. I staggered weakly, unable to cope.

"Don't do this," I managed to choke out after what felt like an eternity, tears welling up in my eyes weather I liked it or not. "Please, _please_ don't do this."

I'll do anything.

I'll stay here too, I'll fight until they kill me, I'll do whatever I have to if it means I don't have to leave them behind. I don't care. I can't leave. No one can make me.

"There's no time," Duncan reminded me urgently. "We must leave immediately."

I looked to my parents desperately, begging them to say something. _Anything._

Instead, I was met with silence.

I let out a strangled cry of grief and rage and maybe a million other emotions, before whirling around and slamming my fist against the larder door with more force than I knew I was capable of. There was a resounding _crack_ as the already fragile wood began to splinter from the impact, and I felt a jarring force shoot up my arm.

 _"Go, Eugene!"_ I heard Father yell desperately.

I didn't move. I couldn't.

Duncan's arm wrapped around my waist and before I knew what was happening, I was being practically dragged towards the exit.

"No! _No!"_ I screamed, lashing out violently at the Grey Warden. "I won't leave! I _can't leave!"_

Before I could get a grip on what was happening, Duncan all but tossed me through the doorway, slamming the servant exit door behind him. I staggered and grabbed at the wall to keep myself from sprawling on the ground, my mind reeling as Duncan gave me a light push to urge me forwards.

"Go," he told me softly, clasping my shoulder with a surprisingly strong grip – to keep me facing forwards and prevent me from turning back.

"My… my parents…" I mumbled, almost deliriously as I struggled to keep up with reality. "They're not… we _can't…"_

It's not real. It's _not real._ It _can't_ be.

Rather than say anything, Duncan simply moved a couple of paces ahead of me, carefully peering out from around the corner of the castle. For a moment, neither of us moved or said anything, until he turned around to face me, unpinning his cloak and throwing it over my shoulders.

"Keep the hood up," he told me sharply as he pulled the material over my head. "And stay in the shadows. We can't afford anyone to recognise you."

I barely heard him – overpowered by my own shock and the sound of screams that echoed throughout the city. I didn't even move until he grabbed my shirt and pulled me roughly forwards.

I didn't resist.

I couldn't.

I couldn't _do_ anything.

It wasn't real. I wasn't there anymore. My body moved on its own and I couldn't keep up with it. I was watching it all at a distance, unable to reconcile myself with reality while every fibre of my being _screamed_ at me to go back. To find my parents, to do _something._ Anything. Anything at all.

 _It's over,_ I kept thinking. _It's all over._

It's all gone, there's nothing left, no life to defend here anymore. They're gone, they're all gone and it's _over…_

Duncan broke into a run, still never letting go of me. Like he was worried I'd turn back if given the chance. Maybe I would've. It was impossible to tell. As far as anyone could tell, we were just two more terrified civilians trying desperately to flee the chaos along with the rest, as people screamed and blood filled the streets.

Don't think about it.

In what seemed like no time at all, we were out of the city and fleeing into the surrounding hills. Duncan still didn't let go, even when I stumbled over just about everything in our way – burrow holes, tufts of grass, rocks, anything and everything that could possibly get in my way as more and more distance was put between us and Highever. I couldn't quite wrap my head around it. The only times I'd ever left Highever was to go on the occasional trip to Amaranthine.

…Amaranthine.

 _Howe._

It's his fault. All of this, everything's that's happened, it's his doing, it's his fault, he acted so cordial and called my father friend even as he stabbed him in the back-

And I didn't see it coming.

I didn't see any of this coming.

I should've seen it.

I should've _warned_ someone.

I'll find him. I'll make him suffer for what he did to my family. For what he did to _me._

His fault. All of it. Everything I've been through – it's all thanks to _him._ Him and his never satisfied lust for power. In that moment, nothing else mattered.

I'll find him.

I'll kill him.

I'll _kill_ him.

 _I'll fucking kill him!_

"No," I mumbled, digging in my heels and ripping myself out of Duncan's grip. _"No!"_

With a tired groan, the Warden skidded to a halt and turned back to face me.

"Eugene," he called my name in a dead serious tone. "There is nothing you can do for them."

"You don't _know_ that!" I screamed. "They could still be alive, and you… I can't just _leave_ them!"

"I know this is hard for you-" he began gently.

"You don't know _anything,"_ I snarled back like a wounded animal. "My mother, she… she didn't have to-"

"She made her decision."

I wasn't having it. I wasn't having any of it. "She didn't _have_ to stay! _You're_ the one who let her! You could've _done_ something! You could've…"

My breath caught in my throat and suddenly I doubled over, coughing and gasping desperately for air. I shuddered and tried to breathe, only to let out some quiet, utterly pathetic whimper.

We could've gotten them out. They could've gotten out. I can't just- …I can't leave them behind… I can't do this. I can't be here, still breathing, still alive, when no one else is. Why me? Why am _I_ the one who got out? Why do _I_ have to be the survivor? What did _I_ do that no one else did? What in the name of the Maker did I do to deserve that? What makes _me_ so different?

Why? Why am I still _here?_

I can't-

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to do anything. I didn't care. I ran. I left my family and friends, almost everyone I've ever known to die. I deserved it.

"They're dead," I managed to choke out after what felt like an eternity. "Maker, they're all dead. Everyone, they're all-"

I cut off as the sound of barking reached me.

Slowly, stiffly, I turned back towards the city, just in time to see the silhouette of a dog bolting towards me. For a moment, I remained rooted to the spot as the animal got closer, before eventually realising that it wasn't running to attack.

"Kiba…" I whispered hoarsely, as tears streamed down my face. "Kiba. _Kiba!"_

He's still-

I'd thought-

Oh thank you. Thank you, _thank you, Andraste._ He's still alive.

My legs buckled beneath me and I fell to my knees, arms outstretched as I beckoned my dog. I didn't know what else to do as he reached me, whining and frantically licking my face. I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his fur as sobs wracked me, deliriously murmuring his name.

Eventually, I looked up, and quickly found myself staring mindlessly at the city of Highever and the orange glow that was slowly consuming it. My home. The only home I'd ever known. My family, my friends, my entire _life_ – and it was gone. All I could do was watch it all go up in smoke as blood ran through the gutters.

Somewhere, in all of that, are my parents.

I wonder if they're still alive.

I can't imagine my father would have lasted for very long after I left. I can't imagine Mother could have summoned the will to keep fighting after she lost him.

No.

No, no, _no._

Don't think about it. Don't think about _them_ – about the fact that they're gone, that they're never coming back, that I'm alone-

…I'm alone. Maker, I'm _alone._

She shouldn't have stayed.

Why did she _stay?_

Why did she leave me?

Why did she choose death over _me?_

I screamed.

I just screamed.

There was nothing else I could do.

I keeled over and I screamed, so loudly that for a moment, I thought my throat might tear. Tears spilled down my cheeks with nothing to stop them and I screamed. My fists clenched so tightly I could feel my muscles begin to cramp and I screamed. I shook uncontrollably and I screamed. I could feel the air going out of my lungs and I screamed. My life shattered and it was over, it was all _over,_ there was nothing left, no point, no sense, no reason and I just _screamed._

No words. There wasn't anything to say – there wasn't anything I _could_ say. It was noise. Just noise.

All that anger.

All that fear.

All that pain.

All that noise.

The last of the air rushed out of my lungs and I quickly found myself gasping through tears as the echoes of my scream reverberated around me. I reached up, grabbing fistfuls of my hair as I watched the city burn, utterly helpless, trying not to choke on my own frantic breaths. Tears streaked down my face, unbidden. I did nothing to hide them. There wasn't any point. It's over. It's all over.

Kiba whimpered quietly before nuzzling me gently, pressing himself against me in some show of solidarity. I didn't move. I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to do anything but simply remain where I was kneeling on the ground, gasping for air and pleading desperately to the Maker, to anyone who'll listen to please let it be a dream. I'll do anything. Just let this be a dream – let me wake up in my bed tomorrow only to discover this, all of this, was just some horrible nightmare, a trick of the Fade.

Please, Maker, don't let this be _real._

But it is real. All the blood and fear and pain, it was all so excruciatingly real. Everything about my life had been ripped away in an instant, so quickly and easily it was as if it was never there at all. It was all so stupidly _cruel_ and unnecessary and completely _meaningless,_ in the end.

Why am I still here? Why am I still _fighting,_ when I know it's not going to change? That _nothing_ is going to change? I don't get it. I don't understand. I can't make sense of the world I thought I knew anymore. Maybe there's nothing to know. Nothing to understand. Maybe it's all chaotic and uncontrollable and ridiculous and nonsensical and I'll never stand a chance at true understanding.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and glanced up to find Duncan standing there, watching me carefully, like he was worried I'd simply shatter before his eyes.

"Eugene," he called softly. "We need to keep moving."

My lip curled and it took all of my self-control not to bite a string of violent curses at him, to keep my anger in check. Maybe he deserved it. Maybe he didn't. I had no way of knowing. All I knew was that he'd been there, he'd watched it all happen, and he'd done nothing to stop it.

He could've done something.

He could've saved them, saved her, done something, done _anything._

But he didn't, and now I'm here, newly homeless and an orphan, and _none of this makes sense._

Silently, I shrugged out from his grasp, not wanting to deal with anymore. Not wanting to engage with the reality of what was happening around me.

It's over.

It's over.

It's all over.


End file.
